


Message In A Bottle

by raisedtokeepquiet



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, Festival di Sanremo RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Friends to Lovers, In later chapters they're adults, M/M, Mild Angst, Pen Pals, Tbh I really don't know how to tag this, at first at least, in a way i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-06-20 19:11:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 57,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15541080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedtokeepquiet/pseuds/raisedtokeepquiet
Summary: 13 year-old Ermal throws a bottle into the sea, a bottle with a message. Where would this bottle end up? Would anyone find it? And write back to him? Of course someone would. A specific someone, named Fabrizio. What will life have in store for these two, connected by letters as they are?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so here is actually a next fic, this time it's planned to be multiple chapters :) I realized when I finished Embarrassingly Quickly that I actually missed writing already, so I started this. Let me know what you think!

_Bari, 18-11-1994_

_Hello! My name is Ermal, I’m 13 years old, and I live in Italy. If you read this letter, then you have found the bottle I threw into the sea. I really hope someone finds this, and replies to me! It would be so cool to receive a letter! Maybe this bottle will travel across the whole world! I threw this bottle in sea in Bari, in Italy. I just moved here a few months ago from Albania, together with my mother and my brother and sister. It is very different from Albania, and I miss my friends, but it’s good to be in Italy. We will be happy here._

_If you find this, please send a letter to the address below, it would be so amazing to get a reply, even if it takes years! Thank you!_

_\- Ermal_

-XXX-XXX-XXX-

“Ermal! Are you up yet? It’s time for school!”

Ermal rolled over one more time and pulled the blankets over his head. Couldn’t he just sleep a little bit longer?

“Ermal!”

No, apparently not. With a sigh, he got up and got dressed. Downstairs, his siblings were already having breakfast and fighting over something or other totally unimportant. It was almost a daily occurrence. Ermal ignored them, and quickly hugged his mother good morning and then sat down to eat something.

“Do you have work today?” his mother asked him, and Ermal nodded in response, quickly swallowing his bread to answer.

“Yes, my shift is from seven to ten. And after school I’ll be going over to Emilio’s, so I’ll go straight to work after that.”

“You work so hard, my boy,” his mother told him, while running a hand over his head.

Ermal just shrugged, she said that often, but what else could he do? And to be honest, he was used to have a job besides going to school. He could handle it.

He left for school, and the day passed, classes blurring into one another, hanging out for a few hours with Emilio until it was time to go to work. He worked in a restaurant, mostly washing up, but now that he had turned sixteen, he was allowed to serve the food sometimes too. He had a short shift today, and it being a Tuesday evening, it wasn’t that busy. He joked around with his colleagues during work, and at a quarter to ten his boss told him he might as well go home early.

He walked home through the dark streets of the city, feeling at home. He did not mind the dark, somehow it made the streets seem peaceful, so different from daytime when it was full of rushing people. He arrived home to find his mother in the living room, his siblings had already gone to bed. He joined her on the sofa, glancing at the television where some kind of soap opera was on. They watched it mindlessly for a bit, and talked a bit about his day. Then they just sat in silence, until Ermal couldn’t stop a yawn from escaping.

“Go on, Ermal, it’s time for bed. It’s another early day tomorrow.”

Feeing actually tired, Ermal didn’t complain, but kissed his mother on her cheek and went to make his way upstairs. Just before he left the room, his heard his mother say, “Oh, I almost forgot, but there came a letter for you today, I left it in the kitchen.”

Curious, Ermal picked it up before going to his bedroom. He turned over the envelope in his hands. He never got mail, except sometime something from the government or about taxes. This, however, was a small, plain white envelope, not one from a company.

Trying not to tear it too much, he opened it with a key and peeked inside. All he saw was a flimsy lined sheet of paper. He took it out and folded it open. Struggling at times to read the handwriting, he found the following letter.

 

_Rome, 21-06-1997_

_Hi Ermal,_

_I really hope you still live at the address you wrote down, otherwise this will be really weird. My name is Fabrizio, I’m 18 years old and I live in Rome. I found your bottle with the letter you sent! I found it in Italy, on a beach close to Rome. So in the past three years the bottle travelled quite a bit. Anyway, if you are Ermal, it’d be cool if you reply, and if you’re not Ermal you’re probably very confused right now, and I apologise for this letter then._

_\- Fabrizio_

 

Just for a minute, Ermal was confused – What was this letter? Why was it addressed to him? – but then he remembered the message in a bottle he had thrown into the sea years ago. He’d completely forgotten about it, but now someone had found it. Someone had found it! That was actually really cool! Somehow, in the last three years, the bottle had floated along the coasts and made it to the other side of Italy, it had made its way between Albania and Italy, between Malta and Sicily – or around Malta even. It had gone between Tunisia and Sicily, away from Sardinia towards Rome. So many places where it could have ended up, but in the end it was close to Rome. To the hands of this boy Fabrizio. Ermal smiled. It was too late now, and he was tired, he would reply tomorrow. He fell asleep with his head full of thoughts about this mysterious boy on the other side of the country, and the things he was going to write him.

The next morning, Ermal awoke with more energy than he was used to. He remembered immediately, the letter! He was still so amazed that he had gotten a reply. Before his mother had even had to wake him, he made his way downstairs. His siblings were apparently still asleep, but he found his mother in the kitchen, sipping coffee.

“Good morning, mama,” he told her as he prepared his breakfast.

“Ermal! Aren’t you awake early today? Did something happen? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, nothing’s wrong. It’s just, that letter I got yesterday, do you know what it is?”

“No, I don’t, though I’m quite curious. But it was addressed to you, and you know I would not break your trust by opening your letters. That’s private. But do you want to tell me?”

His mother look at him, and in vain tried to tame his curls with her hands.

“Yeah. So do you remember, years ago, we had just come to Italy, that I went to the beach all the time?”

His mother nodded, and Ermal continued.

“Well, one day I wrote this short message, and I put it in a bottle and I threw it into the sea. I had totally forgotten about it, but this letter was from the boy who has found it! Can you believe it? It floated all the way to Rome, look, you can read it!” Ermal took the letter out of his pocket and handed his mother, and she looked at him.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s okay, it’s so cool though. Go on, read it!”

He watched as his mother read the letter, occasionally reading a word aloud when she struggled to decipher the handwriting. When she had finished, she looked up.

“Are you going to reply?”

“Yes, of course, don’t you think it would be nice to have pen friend?

His mother smiled at her eldest son. She was happy to see him so excited over something so simple. Sometimes she worried about him, he could be so serious, doing well at school and working as well, and of course he had friends, but he spent a lot of time on his own playing music too – not that there was anything wrong with that, but sometimes she worried. It’s what mothers did.

“I think it would be a really nice thing – but don’t get too excited, Ermal, these kind of things sometimes stop quickly and he might not reply again. I don’t want to see you disappointed.”

Ermal chose to ignore that comment. His mother meant well, but really, Fabrizio had asked him to reply, hadn’t he? Why would he do that if he then was going to stop sending letters? He heard his brother stumble down the stairs, so he picked up his letter and put it back in his pocket. He was not ready to get teased about this – and that was definitely what was going to happen if Rinald got his eyes on it.

When it was time, he made his way to school and met up with his friends before their first class started. A few weeks ago, they had gotten the idea to start a band, so time passed quickly as they discussed possible band names and who would be a part of it, playing which instrument, and what kind of songs they would play. Then the first bell rang, and they made their way to the classroom. Ermal’s first class was Italian, which he usually found quite interesting, but today he was just distracted, counting hours until he would have time to start writing his letter. He didn’t want to write it at school though, because like his siblings, he rather thought his friends would take the opportunity to make it into a big joke. For now it was just going to be his secret – possibly forever.

Time crept by slowly – history class, mathematics, a break, chemistry, English – and to Ermal’s horror today neded with a double class P.E. It was not necessarily that he didn’t like sports, it was more that he didn’t like the way it was taught. The teacher divided them in four groups and let them play football for the whole two hours, occasionally rotating the teams. Ermal did his best, he really did, running across the field, but he never actually touched the ball. Really, what was the point of this? After the next change in opponent, his team could play with one spare player, and he immediately volunteered to sit on the side-lines for a bit. How long until this class was over?

Finally, he was home and could write his letter. He took a cup of tea with him to his room and then got some paper and a pen. He also had to do some exercises for English for the next day, but really, that could wait. And if need be he could improvise in class, he was quite good at English. Now the letter was more important.

He stared at the empty paper. How to start? Place and date, easy. A greeting to Fabrizio. And now? Basics first, thanking him for sending a letter, wondering about how he found it, telling him how excited he is about these letters. Admitting he had actually forgotten that he had ever thrown the bottle into the sea. Then, more about himself. Family, mother, brother, sister, no pets. Grandmother in Albania. Hobbies: his music, his books. He wrote about school and his job. Then Ermal decided he had rambled on about himself long enough, so he took the opportunity to ask Fabrizio about these things too. The end result was a letter of two pages, written pretty legibly, if he said so himself. He looked at the letter, and quickly decided to add a post script.

_P.S. Can I call you something else than Fabrizo? Can I call you Bizio, maybe? It’s just that I’ve got this awful classmate who is also called Fabrizio, and I can tell you are already so much nicer than him, and you deserve a special name! If not, that’s also okay, of course!_

Happy with the result, he folded it and then went downstairs to pester his mother about envelopes and stamps. Finding both, though with a warning to stop stealing them if this would continue, and buy his own, he addressed the letter, sealed the envelope and put the stamp on. He walked to the post office immediately, and then all he could do was wait.

And waiting is what he did. A week went by, almost two, and doubts started creeping in. What if his mother was right, and Fabrizio did not want to write letters after all? Had he written too much? Talked too much about himself? Replied too quickly and seemed too desperate? Luckily (or not, depending on how you looked at it, it was also stressful), exams had started and he could distract himself by studying.

Then, finally, after a week of juggling exams and extra shifts at work which he had mindlessly accepted, he came home to find his mother smiling at him. Now that wasn’t unusual, she was always happy to see him, but today she nodded at the kitchen table with a glint in her eye.

“Something arrived for you today,” she told him, and Ermal rushed to the kitchen to pick up the envelope he found there.

“Thanks, mama,” he yelled towards the living room, and went up to his room. He couldn’t wait to read the letter! He opened the envelope, this time there were multiple sheets, with the same almost illegible handwriting from last time. Excitedly he started to read.

 

_Rome, 07-07-1997_

_Hi Ermal,_

_Thank you so much for your long letter! I am so relieved that you still live on the address you had given. It would be so sad if you had moved away and you’d never know your bottle had been found – though, of course, if you’d forgotten about it like you said, it would not have mattered much either way, I guess. But still, I’m glad for your reply._

_I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to move to a different country. In your first letter in the bottle you said that you liked it in Italy. I hope you still do. Did you find it hard to learn Italian? I’ve always struggled with languages in school, so I don’t want to think about going somewhere and having to learn a new language before I could talk to anyone. Does your dad still live in Albania, like your grandma? Do you visit them often?_

_So, now about me, to answer all your questions. I live in Rome, together with my parents and my brother and sister. We live in a building shared with uncles and aunts, so there are always so many people around. I go to a school for tv and cinematography, though what I really like is music. Just like you, I play guitar and a little piano. You didn’t tell me what music you like to listen to. I really love bands like Guns N’ Roses and U2. What about you?_

_Do you know what you want to do after school? Of course, you still have some years to decide. I would love have a career in music, but it will be difficult. And my dad definitely does not agree. He says it’s not a proper job, and he wants me to do something more secure. He himself is a farmer, but I really couldn’t see myself doing something like that, it’s too predictable, every year the same thing. I know I would hate it. But I would feel bad to disappoint my dad too, by choosing music. Because what if it does not work out? What will I do then?_

_I’m sorry to bore you with all these questions. You won’t have answers for me either. Wouldn’t that be easy? To know what will happen in the future? But then, it would also make life a lot less interesting. Maybe it’s better to have the future be a mystery. Then anything is still possible, and you wouldn’t know until you try. – Sorry, here I go again, rambling on. Somehow it’s just really easy to pour my thoughts right onto paper. Let me know if it annoys you, then I’ll stop! In any case, I have one more year of school left, plenty of time to figure out what I want to do next. First it’s almost summer holidays. Do you have any plans for that? My parents are dragging me and my siblings to Calabria for two weeks. They’re originally from there and we’ll be visiting some of their friends. It will be so boring. I’d rather do something with my friends, but my parents won’t let me. “Their roof and their rules” and all that._

_So you asked me how I found the bottle. I was on a weekend camping trip with friends to a beach close to Rome. We were there just for a night, playing music, having a campfire, you get the idea. I’d gone on a stroll along the water, because we were just kind of waiting for the sun to go down, but we’d arrived early. So I’m just looking at the sand, there were some shells, some rubbish, and at first of course I thought your bottle was just trash too. But suddenly I noticed that there was some paper inside, so I took a closer look. I couldn’t believe it was a proper message at first, because really that is just something from movies and it doesn’t happen in real life. But yeah, that’s how I found your letter. I read it there on the beach and I got so excited, so when I was home I replied immediately. Like I said, it’s something that only happens in movies._

_This letter has gotten quite long, and I think I’ll stop soon. I’m looking forward to your letter soon!_

_\- Bizio_

_P.S. Of course you can, I love it!_

 

Wow, this was a lot of new information. Ermal read the letter again, this time slowing down a bit and imagining what he could reply. He smiled when he read the signature. So his nickname was accepted! A warm feeling settled in his chest.

Was he going to reply immediately? He wanted to, but then he might really seem a bit desperate. But then, would Bizio really judge him on how soon he replied? Ermal was probably overthinking this. He could at least start writing, he didn’t have to send the letter right now.

First he wrote a bit about moving to Italy, how he experienced it. The language at least wasn’t the biggest problem, he had learnt to speak it a bit before moving, so that was all right. Barese, now that was where the real problem was. Ermal explained a bit about he had just started serving food in the restaurant, but realized he couldn’t actually understand the local customers. So now he was trying to learn Barese. But he quite liked languages, it was going to be fine.

Moving on, he found Bizio’s question about his father. He paused. Did he want to answer this? How many details would he give, if he did? He really did not want to think about this, but something made him want to tell Bizio the truth. Then at least someone would know it. He had never told his friends at school, worried about what they might think. Of course they knew his parents were not together, but they didn’t know the reasons or the events that led up to it. It would be nice if he didn’t have to pretend everything was fine for once, but writing it down would be so difficult.

With a sigh, he pushed his chair away from his desk. He’d figure it out later. He made his way downstairs, to see if he maybe could help his mother with dinner. His mother told him he could set the table, and then ask Rinald and Sabina to come eat dinner, as the food was almost ready. The evening meal passed, as it always did, with nice conversation, everyone talking about their day. Ermal talked a bit about his school day, but still did not want to tell his siblings about the letters to Bizio. He tried to listen to what his Sabina was telling about what she and her friends had been up to today, but he ended up lost in thought.

Finally, he had made up his mind, he was going to tell Bizio about his father. Not in too much detail, but at least enough to get the picture. He wanted to be honest in this. It were just words of paper, he could write this. And then he would just wait for Bizio’s answer. It was going to be fine, there was no need to make such a big deal out of this.

That evening, Ermal sat back down at his desk and continued writing. First his father, just the necessary information, then about the move to Italy. Then he just talked about his grandmother a lot, to make the tone of the letter a bit (well, a lot, actually) happier. He commented on Bizio’s struggles to choose a career, trying to reassure him that everything would work out. Maybe it was only natural that his father wanted him to choose something stable, but Ermal was sure that Bizio could make it, and then his father would be proud of him.

He wrote about his own ideas for the future, which he didn’t really have, at least not a clear plan yet. Music would be amazing, but he wasn’t totally sure. He was thinking about going to university, maybe study philosophy, or languages, or science. He really hadn’t made a choice yet. But, like Bizio said, he had some years left. Then he added, as a comment to Bizio’s question whether it would be good to know what the future held, that he’d preferred not to know. Not knowing left an infinite amount of possibilities.

Finally, Ermal wrote about his plans for the holidays. They would visit his grandmother for a week, and for the rest of his time he had planned to take a lot of extra shifts at the restaurant. And he and his friends planned on getting that band started, so that was exciting.

When he finished writing, he saw that he had actually written even a longer letter than last time. It was like Bizio had said, somehow it was so easy to just keep writing. He put the sheets of paper in an envelope, and then put on the last stamp had gotten from his mother. He really had to buy some new ones. He should do that when he was going to post the letter.

The few remaining weeks of the school year passed quickly. Ermal got the grades back for his exams, and had done really well, though maybe his math’s grade could have been a bit better. The exam had been difficult though, so Ermal was quite happy with the final result.

During the summer, the letters came with some delays, first Bizio went on holiday and didn’t have to time to reply immediately, and then when he finally had, Ermal was in Albania. Both were relieved when they found a letter in their post box, it had taken longer to get a reply, but the reply still came.

And so it went on, every week, or every two weeks, they would find a letter, and send one in return. Somehow, they never ran out of things to write about. There was always something new to tell, something that had happened, something that they wondered about, questions that could be answered. Writing to Bizio was just so _easy_ , and Ermal came to trust him so much, and to respect his opinions and ideas so much. Weeks passed, turning into months, and he knew he had found a new friend – even if they had never seen each other face to face or knew more personal information than a first name and an address. A new friend, just because he had thrown a bottle with a short message in it into sea. Who would have thought this would happen?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The letters continue, and life goes on, being life. Ermal goes to university and beyond, always with his letters to Bizio in the back of his mind.

Months turned into years, and the letters never stopped. Sometimes they took a bit longer to arrive, but they would always come. Ermal and Bizio were amazed at the ease with which they could fill pages and pages. They talked about their dreams, their hopes, their disappointments, their fears. They were never afraid of being judged, they knew the other would have their back and support them in everything. The letters felt safe. It was like a diary, Ermal mused one day, a diary that not only kept your secrets safe from the world, but a diary that gave advice on problems, put fears in perspective, cheered you up, and entertained you with funny stories and anecdotes.

Bizio told Ermal about the part-time job he had found with a construction company. He told him how he had underestimated the work, how difficult it was, how hard. Long days, hard work, outside in all kinds of weather… Ermal told Bizio about the customers in the restaurant, and about how he had finally learnt Barese. He told him about the fun nights, when everything went well and the customers were content, he told him about the nights when everything seemed to go wrong, when he dropped drinks or, once, a stack of plates, or when customers kept complaining and couldn’t be satisfied.

Ermal’s mother sometimes asked him if he wouldn’t like to meet Bizio, see him in person, maybe go on a holiday to Rome. But no, Ermal decided, he liked the relationship they had now, through words on paper. He’d never been closer to anyone before, no one knew as much about him as Bizio, and he didn’t want to change the dynamic, for fear of ruining the special thing they had. Of course, he wrote about it to Bizio – why not? They could write about anything, anything at all – and explained his feelings. Bizio replied that, while he was curious about Ermal, he, too, liked the way things are, and preferred to keep it so. The letters continue.

Ermal told Bizio about the change from school to university, how different it was and how much he had to get used to it. The lectures at random times, instead of a whole day spent in classes. How he could just decide not to go to class, and no one would blink an eye. Of course, he usually went to class anyway, he liked his subjects. He had chosen to study languages, in the end. Besides the language classes, he had lectures on literature and linguistics. He enjoyed himself, the professors were kind, the topics – usually – interesting, and his fellow students nice. He made some good friends, but no one knew him as well as Bizio did.

Bizio told him about how he was writing music, wishing he could make it as a solo artist. It was hard though, and in the meanwhile he was playing in a cover band, and had several other odd jobs on the side as well. Still, his father told him to find a proper job, something that promised stability and security, telling him time and time again that being a musician was not a respectable option. Bizio ignored these comments, but he told Ermal how difficult it was, how he wanted nothing more than for his father to be proud of him, while feeling like a disappointment every time his music was met with rejection. Maybe his father was right, and he should do something else. Ermal tried to cheer him up – and on – as much as he could. He told him that everything would work out, that hard work always paid off, that Bizio could make it to the stars if he wanted. He hadn’t heard Bizio play or sing a single note in his life, but was determined to be his biggest fan nonetheless. Bizio deserved that support.

Ermal told Bizio how stupid he felt when a girl from one of his classes asked him to go for coffee four times, and he only replied that he had just gotten coffee already. How did he not realize she was trying to ask him on a date? How was he this clueless, honestly? Bizio told him not to worry, if she asked him four times, at least she was determined, and she must really like him. Encouraged by this, Ermal went up to the girl and asked her for coffee, and was met with a “yes” and a lovely, bright smile.

Bizio told Ermal how he liked both women and men. It was there, in the letter, plainly written, unambiguously stated, and yet Ermal sensed a shyness behind the words. Was Bizio afraid Ermal would not accept this, not accept him? Of course he would! He made sure to write his support, make it clear that this changed in no way whatsoever how he saw Bizio. Ermal was happy that Bizio trusted him enough to tell him this. What followed was a long reply from Bizio where he wrote to Ermal how he struggled with this, how he was afraid how is friends and most importantly, his family would react. Should he tell them? Should he not? The relationship with his father was difficult already, what if this was the final straw? Ermal tried to comfort him, but at the same time was a bit hesitant to push Bizio in one or the other direction. He did not know how anyone would react, and what if he gave Bizio completely the wrong advice? Still, it was enough to just listen to Bizio, to be that one person that knew the truth, and Ermal was glad that he could be there for him, while he figured out who he was.

So the letters continued, and they talked about everything, knowing they could trust each other and always ask for advice or comfort or just a distraction from their own problems. Each time there was a new letter when Ermal came home from a lecture, or from work, or from band practice, his mother would smile and nod at the kitchen counter. These days, Ermal took the envelope and went up to his room, eagerly reading the pages filled with Bizio’s words. While in the beginning he had sometimes struggled to write Bizio’s handwriting, now it was as familiar to him as his own. More often than not, he started writing his reply immediately, ready to send it off within a few days.

Then, one day, Ermal realized he hadn’t gotten a reply to his last letter, a letter he had sent three weeks ago. Usually, Bizio took two weeks at most to reply. Well, Ermal would just wait another week. Or two. However, there was still nothing in his mailbox after this time had passed. But maybe Ermal’s letter had never arrived in the first place, and Bizio was waiting like he was, for a reply that wasn’t coming. So Ermal wrote another letter, recapping what he had written before, in case his letter never made it to Bizio, and explaining the situation, in case Bizio’s letter never reached him.

More weeks of waiting. Two passed, three, four, and still, nothing. Slowly it dawned on Ermal that this was not a case of the mail service messing up, or letters getting lost. That didn’t happen twice in a row. So the only possible explanation was that Bizio didn’t want to write him anymore. But why? Why, after all this time, without so much as one word to warn Ermal? Why not tell Ermal that he wanted to stop writing, and tell him why. Maybe he was too busy, maybe he didn’t feel like it was worth it anymore, maybe he had changed his mind about Ermal and he’d wanted out of this weird friendship. But he could have told Ermal, couldn’t he? Why stop writing, just like that? It wasn’t like Bizio, really, and Ermal was worried. What if something had happened? Should he write another letter, asking if everything was all right? But then, that would probably get ignored as well, and he really didn’t feel like hopefully waiting for a response, and being disappointed again each time he opened the mailbox.

Of course, that still happened anyway. Out of habit, he checked the mail when he came in at night, and each time he felt a pang in his chest when there was nothing there, no envelope addressed in that familiar handwriting. The disappointment slowly faded over time, but what didn’t fade was how foolish he felt every time he checked the post, hoping to find a letter from Bizio, that feeling only grew stronger and stronger as time passed. Ermal tried to just forget about it, it had been good while it lasted, but had he really thought that they would keep sending letters until they were seventy years old, each in their own nursing home?

His mother sometimes caught him checking the mailbox, but Ermal just pretended he wasn’t waiting for anything in particular. The first few weeks she had asked him whether he’d gotten anything, but as his negative answers continued, and time passed, she’d stopped. Ermal was at least grateful that she just ignored it, and didn’t say anything about it, because she had warned him, all those years ago. And yes, if Bizio had stopped replying after only a few letters, maybe that was understandable. Then the novelty of it was gone, maybe it wasn’t what he had expected, maybe he’d moved on. But they had written letters to each other for a little over six years. Six. Then you didn’t stop replying without warning or explanation, those years ought to count for something. But apparently they didn’t, at least not for Bizio.

Ermal gave it one more try that summer. He was on holiday with friends in Germany and decided to buy Bizio a post card and give him this one last chance. Well, _decided_ was a strong word. Rather, when buying post cards for his mother and grandmother, out of habit he picked up one more card. He might as well send it, now that he’d bought it. So he scribbled a quick note, not wanting to dwell on any feelings. Just a short _greetings from Germany_ , with a funny story and then a _I hope you’re doing well!_ , and his name. He addressed it from memory, and posted it. He didn’t expect a reply, he really didn’t, and yet the disappointment was back, stronger than before when nothing arrived. So stupid, he cursed himself, he’d known nothing would happen.

So, life went on without his letters. Ermal went on without his letters. But he missed it. He missed it so much. He found himself constantly thinking about what to write to Bizio, how to describe this situation that conversation. Whenever something happened, one of his first thoughts was “Bizio would want to know”, “Bizio would have great advice about this”, or “I’m wondering what Bizio would say about this”. He found himself lost in thought about what Bizio might be doing at this moment, or what would be going on in his life. Each time, however, he remembered that he would never know, and tried to focus his thoughts on something, anything else.

At one point, he bought a diary, thinking that he’d gotten so used to writing down his thoughts and feelings, maybe doing that again would help. But it was really not the writing that he missed, and the diary always felt empty, because he just didn’t get the replies he is looking for.

But still, life went on. In his final year of university, Ermal decided that a better idea than taking his final exam to finish, would be to drop out and focus full time on that band he and his high school friends had started. Because while interesting, what would he ever do with _languages_? His mother was a bit disappointed when he told her – “Why not finish, Ermal, you just have to take one more exam. Think of all the hard work you put in to get here!” – but he didn’t listen to her, things would work out somehow. Of course, especially now, in this situation, he couldn’t help but wonder how Bizio would have reacted. Supported his decision, probably. Well, he wouldn’t know now what Bizio might have said, and he tried to shake these thoughts from his head.

And after three years of hard work, everything paid off. They participated in Sanremo, which lead up to a record deal for an album. It was crazy, really, how fast everything suddenly happened. While they didn’t get far in the festival, the whole experience was a dream. Ermal loved it. Yes, he slept very little, and yes, it was stressful. But he had a chance to meet so many amazing people, so many great musicians, and that together with the atmosphere and all the music, he enjoyed himself a lot. Then the year went on, and they recorded the album, and he just _learned_ so much. It was all so interesting and so cool to be a part of. The band toured for a bit, and Ermal enjoyed the rush he would get, each time, on stage.

Of course, by now he really should know that good things don’t last, and also this chapter of his life would end. Ermal and his friends decided the next year to split up the band. It was sad that it would be ending, but Ermal realized this gave him a new opportunity: Take everything he had learned and his experience to form his own band.

So that’s what he did. He contacted some people he knew and he did it, he was leading his own band. There were days he could hardly believe this was happening. Once more, he wished he was still writing to Bizio, this would be such a nice thing to share. But he couldn’t, and he focused on the band instead.

First, he wanted to make sure that it was working, the music, the people, the chemistry. So for the first two years they were writing songs, perfecting performing them, and playing at different festivals in Italy, and even in other countries. The crowds were bigger, the stages larger, the rush more intoxicating. This was life, this was perfect.

When he deemed also the band perfect, and a recording studio had the same opinion, they released their first album. The public liked it, too, their songs were bought, were played on radio. They were invited for interviews as well, and during one of those, Ermal found love. He was so happy, Silvia, his friends, the band, everything was love and everything was music. Even in his happiness, occasionally he wished to be able to tell Bizio how _good_ life was, and wondered wistfully how Bizio was doing, hoping he, too, was living his dreams.

Then the band was invited to Sanremo. Again, they were eliminated, but to Ermal it felt, in a way, like coming home. Some of the same people, some different, but the same atmosphere to breathe, the same feeling of belonging, of being part of something so much bigger and older than him. Even if eliminated, the song was a good song and became the title track of their second album, which they released that same year, to complete that roller coaster year.

What followed were more radio plays, more interviews, more record sales, more everything. They had their own tour, their own shows, and each night that they stepped out onto the stage Ermal could hardly believe that all these people came especially for them. No festival where the public came for larger names or for the festival experience, no, now the people were there because they wanted to hear their music live. It felt like dreaming, the energy of the crowds felt like flying, and Ermal loved every minute of it.

Then they released their third album, but it would be the final one. No more tours, no more interviews, no more shows. One more band was history, one more chapter of his life finished. It had been a difficult, but joint decision. Working on that third album had been exactly that, work, the music hadn’t come with the same ease as before, and it had taken some toll on their relationship. Less patience to go around, small disagreements, and it didn’t help the overall mood. So, they decided to split up, and go their own ways.

For Ermal, this was the beginning of a career of writing songs for other artists. He had always been writing songs, so many songs, more than he would ever have used. Now he could share them with others. Now, all the people he had met while doing shows, while doing interviews, while doing festivals, and most importantly, the people he had met at Sanremo were indispensable. The start was slow, but before he knew it people were calling him, asking to work with him. Quicker, and more easily than he had expected, his name became well known in the business. He decided to move to Milan. It would be easier to meet all the people he needed to meet there, and besides, Silvia had found a job there, and they would go together.

They had been living in Milan for a few months now. Slowly, Ermal was getting used to it, slowly he was able to find his way through the streets and get where he was going without an extensive detour. Very slowly, he was getting used to living almost a country away from his family, rather than just half a city.

One day, as he was walking home from a meeting, his phone rang. It was his mother. She was probably calling to see how he was doing, missing him. She called a lot, really. But Ermal didn’t mind, because to tell the truth, he missed her too.

“Hi, mama,” he said, picking up the phone call, and making his way over to a nearby bench to sit down as long as the call lasted. He probably would lose his way if he tried to navigate home, while being distracted by the conversation.

“Hello my boy, how are you?”

Ermal told her about his day, about his work, the meetings he’d had. He told her about his and Silvia’s plans for the upcoming weekend. Each weekend, they found another part of the city to explore. They had visited the tourist attractions, the cathedral, the museums, the canals. They visited the less known places, hidden parks, small alleys, discovering the secrets of the city they were now living in.

Ermal’s mother told him about how she had spent her day, about what Rinald and Sabina had been doing. He loved to hear all the small details, but was missing them more with each word his mother said.

Then they were silent for a short while. Finally, his mother told him, ‘Ermal, there arrived mail for you today.’

Mail? Why would he have received mail at his mother’s place? He had changed addresses a few times, and this hadn’t happened before.

“Strange that it was addressed to you. Is it some company? Does it look important? Otherwise you can just throw it out.”

“Ermal, it’s a letter. For you.”

Yes, a letter for him, that was wat ‘mail’ meant, right? Why wasn’t she just telling him what company it was from? –

_Oh_.

A letter. Not just mail.

_A letter_.

For him. Addressed to his mother’s house, his old address.

Would it be? Could it be? Probably not, right?

Ermal was trying not to get his hopes up. Really, why would Bizio write to him after all this time? It didn’t make sense, and it most likely was just some useless junk mail.

“A letter?” he repeated weakly, realizing he had been quiet for a while.

“Yes. A letter, shall I forward it to you?”

His mother’s tone of voice told him everything he needed to know – no that was not true, it told him the important fact that it was indeed Bizio who had written to him, but it told him nothing else. Why had he written? After all this time? Without ever a sign of life? After ignoring Ermal’s letters without any explanation whatsoever?

“Yes, please,” Ermal managed to answer, his thoughts spinning like crazy through his head. The call ended quickly after, and Ermal found his way home. Silvia took one look at him, as he walked in the door, and immediately was by his side.

“Ermal? What is wrong? Did something happen?”

With a sigh, and a glass of wine, Ermal told her the whole story. Briefly, a thought flashed through his head that she was the first person he was telling this to. Besides his mother, she would now be the only person who knew of Bizio. He told her about the bottle, the sea, the letter. Years later, the reply. And then all the letters, the uncountable number of letters that followed, until they stopped. Stopped, until today, apparently.

Impatiently, he counted the days before the letter would be delivered to him. The day that it finally arrived, he came home from a meeting to find Silvia pointing at the kitchen counter. There, the letter. It didn’t escape him how this situation resembled that of years ago, when his mother would put the letters on the kitchen counter for him to find.

Ermal took the envelope, and went to the bedroom. He needed to be alone for this, and hoped Silvia would understand that. With shaking hands, he opened the envelope and took out some sheets of paper. The handwriting hadn’t changed, and he would recognize it anywhere. _Bizio_. He had really written to him, after all this time. He hadn’t forgotten him. Ermal settled on the bed, took a deep breath, and started reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry to end this here, I had not planned to do so. But the chapter got away from me and really got too long to post at once. I'll try to upload the next chapter as soon as I can, because I know this is cruel. Sorry! I hope you still like it, please leave a comment to let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What did that mysterious letter of Bizio say? And how will Ermal react?

_Rome, 15-05-2013_

_Dear Ermal,_

_Once more, I am writing a letter to your address, hoping you or your family still live there. This time, however, it is not because your message was lost at sea for years. This time, it is because I stopped sending a reply for years. I can only say that I am sorry. I hope you are even reading this, and have not just thrown the envelope away without opening – though it would be your good right, I know that._

_Ermal, I am so sorry for not replying to your letters. I can only imagine how you must have felt. Confused, hurt. I know that it is not an excuse, there is no way to justify why I didn’t just let you know then, but I wanted to explain my reasons, I wanted to explain why I never replied._

_The past years, especially the first after I stopped writing you, were hard. I was in a bad place, mentally, and I – the people who I thought were my friends were not. I started drinking too much, I started doing drugs, and it took over my life. I did not like who I was when sober – though, looking back now, I also did not like myself when intoxicated. I was on a dark path, but at the moment it seemed the only way._

_It had already started when I was still writing to you, but I concealed it from you. I did not want you to be disappointed in me, I did not want you to be worried about me, I did not want you to tell me things I already knew, and I did not want you to give me advice that I would not listen to. Besides, I was afraid of your judgement. I know it is silly, I knew you would not judge me, you would try to help me, but I couldn’t face it. So at first I concealed it, but as my life got darker and darker, I could not keep up the pretence. I did not want to keep up the pretence._

_So, I thought, the easiest thing for me would be to just stop replying. To just ignore your letter and be done with it. Of course it did not work like that. I kept rereading your last letter in some of my better moments, imagining how I would reply, imagining how you would reply to me. A few times, I even started to write to you, but I never finished it, and I know I would not have sent it anyway. Then your second letter came, and I realized you had given me another way back to you – I could just claim the first letter had never arrived. But again, drinking and drugs took over, and I couldn’t write to you. And even then, months later, I got your post card. You were still thinking about me, even when I hadn’t shown a sign of life in months._

_My addiction – I don’t want to talk about it too much, I hope you understand. Let’s just say that it got worse before it got better, and I’m glad you didn’t know me during that time. I’m too ashamed to go into details. But things got better slowly, so slowly. I’m doing better now. I have been clean for a good number of years now, and I found a woman who loves me and supports me in everything I do. Together, we have a little boy of four years old, and a new-born baby girl. The children really are the best thing to have happened to me, and they make me so very happy._

_Over the years, I never stopped thinking about you. I have been wondering what you’re up to, how you’re doing. I have been debating whether or not to write to you again. I wasn’t sure if I should, maybe you have forgotten my completely by now, and I can imagine you do not care to hear from me now. Still, finally I decided to write you this, if nothing else, then to end it in a better way than I did all those years ago. I just want you to know that all your letters made my life brighter, and you were, in a special way, the best friend I had. I’m sorry I could not be the same to you._

_Like I said, I can only imagine how that must have felt, to be disappointed again and again, and I apologize for that. It was never my intention to hurt you, it was a selfish and failed attempt to make my life easier. If it was me in your place, I really don’t know how I would react to reading this, if you’re reading this at all. I am not asking for anything, I know you owe me nothing. But I owed you an apology, and an explanation._

_Ermal, I hope you’re doing well, I hope life has been kind to you and you are on your way to realizing your dreams. I have included my new address below, though please don’t think that I expect an answer. I don’t expect anything. I wish you all the best, and once more, I am sorry._

_\- Fabrizio_

 

Finished reading, Ermal folded the sheets closed and stared out of the window for a while. This was not what he expected. He had never expected to hear from Bizio again, let alone receive a letter like this, after what, ten years? He had had no idea what the letter would tell him, but it wasn’t this. He sighed, and tried to make sense of his feelings. Some of that old pain was back, the pain caused by being ignored and pushed aside by someone he thought a friend. But it had been years ago, he had moved on. Other feelings were a newer pain, because Bizio had lied to him, had found it easier to stop writing than to admit that things were not going well. Ermal understood that Bizio was afraid of being judged, but still, he had thought they knew each other better than that.

He got up and started pacing the room. In his messy feelings, there was joy too, joy to finally hear from Bizio again, to finally have answers on years-old questions. At the same time, there was sadness, he felt for Bizio, who did not deserve such a difficult life. Though he said he was doing better know, in a good relationship and even having children. Ermal was happy about that too. But what to do? Should he answer? Did he want to? He didn’t know what to do. He sat back on the bed and dropped his head in his hands.

He didn’t know.

He could give it some time. It hardly mattered, after all, a few more weeks on a silence of ten years. And as Bizio wasn’t expecting a reply, Ermal could take some time to think this over and decide on what to do. If he was going to do anything at all.

He stayed there, deep in thought, until he heard a soft knock on the door. It was opened on a crack, and Silvia looked in.

“Are you okay, Ermal? You’ve been there for a while and I was getting a bit worried.”

He looked up, nodded, and gestured for her to come closer. She did, and sat next to him on the bed.

“I’m fine, yes. Confused, this letter is not what I had expected at all.”

“Is it bad news?”

“No, not really, it’s just… I had never expected to hear from him again, you know? I had made peace with that, and now it’s – I don’t know what to think, I don’t know what to _do_.”

“You don’t have to decide now, dear. Let it be, sleep tonight, have another look at that letter tomorrow.”

He knew she was right, but also knew that he would have a hard time getting his thoughts to be quiet.

The next day he read the letter again, and the day after that, but it didn’t give him any answers. The mess of emotions hadn’t become any simpler, or easier to understand. Still, there was the old hurt, feeding thoughts like ‘why reply, let him feel how it is to be ignored’ and ‘he cast you aside, and now he feels bad, but you don’t owe him _anything_ ’. Part of Ermal wanted to hurt Bizio in the same way as he had been hurt, and part of Ermal wanted to give in to this mean side of him.

At the same time, Ermal knew these were childish thoughts, and knew he was a better person than that. He couldn’t deny the joy he also felt, joy because Bizio was doing well, now at least, joy because he hadn’t forgotten him at all, joy because after all these years he had another letter in his hands. Besides, the apology – apologies – were just so _sincere_. Ermal didn’t doubt that Bizio meant every word he had written. Wasn’t that the sign of a great man? Who could own up to his mistakes even after all this time had passed, and do it in a way that showed clearly that he knew only he himself was to blame. Who knew that giving a reason was not an apology – even if the reason was as understandable as it was in this case – but gave it anyway.

And Ermal couldn’t help but admire the strength that Bizio had to possess in order to fight off the temptations and sweet calls of drugs and alcohol after such a long time of giving in, and even build a happy life for himself. He wanted to tell Bizio this, he needed to tell Bizio how proud he was of him for that.

But did all these positive things weigh up against the _hurt_ he had felt all these years? Would they be enough to overcome a decade without contact? Was it worth trying? Would their relationship ever be anything like it was when they were sending weekly letters? Wouldn’t they just both get hurt in the process of trying to go back to something that would never be?

And yet, hadn’t he all these years not wished that he could still share his life, his thoughts, hopes and doubts, with Bizio? He had missed it so much. And right here he had the opportunity at his fingertips to have it all again. It might not be the same, it might not be as good as before, but even if it was just a fifth of the connection they had had before, it would be worth it, right?

Ermal went through his days, his thoughts going back to the letter no matter what he should be dong, spinning in the same circles over and over again. He had to do something, he had to make a decision to make this _stop_. And the best thing to do, the only solution that would leave him hopefully free of any what if’s and could be’s was to send a reply to Bizio. Just write a reply, and see where it would end.

Yes.

As soon a she realized this, he put his guitar away, and the sheets of paper for the song he was currently _not_ writing anyway, and found some lined paper. He stared at it. How to begin? He got out Bizio’s letter again, and decided to just copy him. Ermal decided to use his old nickname. No need to go back to a cold and detached _Fabrizio_ , neither of them deserved that, not with the history they shared, even though it included ten years of silence.

_Milan, 24-06-2013_

_Dear Bizio,_

_You were in luck, while I have moved away, my mother still lives at our old address in Bari. I must admit, I had not expected to hear from you ever again. It was with very mixed feelings that I read your letter, but I was glad to receive it nonetheless._

_First of all, thank you for your apology. You are right, when you stopped replying I was hurt, and confused. I felt discarded, pushed aside, replaced by something or someone more interesting – now I know that in a twisted way that was true, at the moment, I guess, the drugs were worth more to you than our relationship. Thank you, too, for explaining why you stopped replying. That might be the question that bothered me the most, the why of it. What had I done wrong? Why hadn’t you told me you’d rather stop writing? So thank you for those answers. _

_As you can notice, it has taken me some time to write this reply. I know you don’t expect one, it’s just that I have come to the conclusion that it’s the best thing to do. But I’m still not completely sure. Part of me is still the hurt boy, and I must admit that some of my first thoughts were to ignore you, to make you feel like I did, all those years ago. But as time went on, I could not get your words out of my mind. Writing this to you is possibly the only reason to find some peace. Because, Bizio, I do have some things to say to you._

_I wish you had told me about your problems – I could have helped, Bizio, I would not have judged you, please know that at least – but I cannot blame you for not telling me. If the situation was reversed, I don’t know what I would have done. I might have concealed it too, chosen the easier way. But I must admit that, while I can understand why you did what you did, it still hurts, knowing that you kept it from me, while I thought we knew each other better than that, that we could trust each other with anything. And I can’t help but still feeling upset that you never let anything know, a small note just saying that you would rather stop writing would have been enough. The silence, Bizio, was the worst. The not knowing, the worrying. Again, I can understand your motives, but it does not take away that pain. I know you know that too, you said so in your letter, and it makes it better, but there is no switch in me to immediately let go of these feelings. Only time will help, though please know that your letter was better than another ten years of silence._

_And I must say, it never occurred to me not to read your letter, I was too curious about what you might have to tell me, after such a long silence. It seems to me you were afraid of this, that I would throw out the envelope without ever opening it at all. Part of the reason why I am replying is to let you know that I have read your letter, and that I have accepted your apology. You deserve to have that peace of mind and I can give it to you, so I should. I appreciate your letter, I really do. But I’m also sorry that you carried this guilt with you all these years. We were young, falling out of touch was bound to happen at some point, when our lives changed too much, when our futures became too different from each other. I wish you could have accepted it, like I did, eventually, and moved on. This is also part of the reason that I send you this reply, you deserve to know that I am not angry with you, I am not disappointed in you._

_Actually, it is the opposite. Even when I was shaking those childish thoughts of hurting you like you hurt me out of my mind, there was happiness. Happiness to hear from you, but also to hear that you are doing well. Congratulations on finding love, and congratulations with your children. I am sure you are a great father! Truly, I am happy for you, you deserve all good things in the world. And I want to tell you, Bizio, I admire you for your strength. It must not have been easy to wrestle yourself free from the call of substances, and I am proud of you for doing so. So proud._

_It’s funny that you say you have been thinking about me. You cannot imagine the number of times through the years that I thought of you. It was worst in the beginning, of course, used as I was to sharing every thought with you. But even years later, there were moments that I wished I could share with you, or situations where I wanted nothing more than your advice. I’ve really missed you, if I’m honest._

_I have included my new address, I am now living in Milan with my girlfriend. Maybe, if you want to, we could try to get back in touch, properly. But please, don’t feel like you should. I would be happy to hear from you again, but if you feel this is finished, that you have moved on now, that is okay too. It is up to you._

_Again, thank you, Bizio, for writing to me, and explaining what happened all those years ago. You’re a good man and I wish life is kind to you. You deserve it._

_\- Ermal_

Ermal signed the letter, and refused to read through it again. He had said what he had on his mind, and if he didn’t send it now, he might never. He looked around for an envelope and a stamp and quickly wrote the address down. Still Rome, he noted. Then he walked to the nearby post box and pushed the envelope through the slot. There was no way back now. Somehow, his heart felt lighter, not only from having made his decision, but from doing what he thought was the right thing.

And back he was, to waiting. He told himself it would stop here, Bizio would not reply, not now he had finally gotten rid of his guilt, there was nothing that kept him tied to Ermal in any way. And yet, he hoped that maybe, like him, Bizio would want to get back in touch. Once more, he was hopefully checking the mail, it was as if the past ten years hadn’t happened at all. Once more, waiting. One week passed. Two weeks. Three. Finally, he told himself that his waiting and hoping was pointless. This was it, there would be no more letters.

Then, after a day were possibly everything that could go wrong, had gone wrong – at breakfast, he had dropped his mug of coffee, then he got soaked by unexpected rain on his way to his office, only to arrive there to find the meeting he was supposed to have, cancelled, and the rest of the day was spent trying to write music but failing – he arrived home to Silvia making dinner. Ermal leaned against the counter, breathing in the smells of the food and Silvia’s shampoo as she moved around him.

“How was your day?” she asked him as she handed him a knife and some tomatoes.

“Shit,” Ermal answered only, and started attacking the tomatoes. He hoped they needed small pieces mixed with tomato puree because he was not in a mood to handle the vegetables delicately.

“I have some good news for you, then,” Silvia said, after looking at him for a minute, with a mysterious smile on her face.

Ermal looked at her, also not in the mood for riddles. Silvia nodded to the table.

“You’re a blind idiot Ermal, look there.”

Drying his hands, Ermal turned around. There, on the table. An envelope. From Bizio. It had arrived after all. Finally. He grabbed it from the table, and made his way to the living room to read it.

“Thanks, love,” he told Silvia as he walked past her, and dropped a kiss on her cheek.

He sat down on the couch, and opened the envelope. There was actually quite a lot of text! Excitedly, he took the sheets of paper and started reading, making his way through the letter. He smiled when he saw the post script.

_P.S. Ermal, you don’t know how happy your reply made me. Thank you. By the way, did you know that you wrote your letter on the same day as you wrote that first letter to me in ’97? Exactly 16 years later. I am still sorry for the ten I wasted._

It was so sweet, that Bizio had noticed that. And such an amazing coincidence. Somehow, this was meant to be, there was no other explanation. Ermal couldn’t help it, after reading the whole letter, he immediately felt so close again to Bizio. Writing that letter and asking to get back in touch was definitely a good decision. He started writing his reply that same evening.

And so it went, they were back to exchanging letters. It was easy, easier than either of them had expected it to be, to go back to that same connection. But things had changed, too. While the connection was back easily, they still had missed a decade of each other’s life, and it took some time to figure out how to deal with that. There was information they’d missed, assumptions that no longer held true. But all misunderstandings were easily solved.

Ermal learned that Bizio was living with his girlfriend and the two children in Rome. It was evident that he loved his children a lot, every letter contained several paragraphs of what they were doing and what they had learned and all the cute things that had happened. It was just so _sweet_. What the letters, didn’t tell him, however, what exactly Bizio was doing for his work, except that he was apparently away a lot, Ermal assumed on business trips. What was clear, is that it broke Bizio’s heart to be away from his children for longer periods of time.

Following Bizio’s example, Ermal kept his actual job a bit vague. He knew his name would be easy to find online with just a little more information than Bizio already had, and he liked this anonymity, without any expectations or prejudices. They still talked about music a lot, of course they did, ever since those first letters, music had formed a strong bond between them, and that hadn’t changed. Ermal always had to smile when Bizio recommended him one of the songs Ermal himself had written. He never said anything, but it made him feel so happy and proud that Bizio liked the songs he wrote, even if he didn’t play them himself.

Another thing that had changed was that Bizio would always tell him when he went away, when he was busy, when it might take longer for a reply to arrive. Ermal was touched by how determined he was to not make Ermal wait in vain and worry again. The letters took some more time to arrive than they used to, but both had very busy lives. To make up for it, though, they were long. Because what hadn’t changed was the ease with which they could fill pages and pages.

As always, life continued. Ermal wrote more letters, Ermal wrote more songs, and life was good. Well, life was good for him at least. Bizio had it a bit harder. One letter started out as normal, cute stories about the children, cheerful reactions to what Ermal had written, but then the tone changed, became more serious. Bizio told him that he and his girlfriend had decided to split up. He did not go into much detail, but Ermal could tell how much it affected him. They had realized that while they still were close, the love had gone. It would be unfair to both of them to stay in a relationship just because it was a safe and familiar one. It would be better to break it off, and do it now while the children were still small enough to not know any better. It would save a lot of pain later on. At least, that was their reasoning, but damn, it caused a lot of pain right now. And Bizio also knew that time would help blunt the edges of the pain, they just had to make it through it. Ermal just did his best to be there for Bizio, and comfort him. It was all he could do.

So he did, and life went on. Years passed. Good years. He was happy with his life, his career was going well, he had good friends, he had Silvia, and he had Bizio. Yes, life was good to him.

But then, one day, he came home to Silvia seated at the kitchen table, head down, waiting. Inexplicably, she was surrounded by bags. Seven bags, Ermal’s mind supplied uselessly. He took a seat opposite her, suddenly afraid of what she had to say.

“Silvia?”

“We need to talk, Ermal,” she said, as she looked up, mascara in black streaks on her cheeks.

The short of it was that she was leaving.

Maybe it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to Ermal, people didn’t leave relationships of nine years suddenly, on a whim, without any warning. Looking back, the signs had been there. Late, lonely nights, dinners eaten alone, less proper conversations, so many days of only the necessary remarks – “We’re out of toilet paper, can you buy some on your way home?”, “What time will you be home tonight?”, “Don’t forget we have agreed to have dinner at Rosa and Antonio’s place.” –, no more dates on the weekends. He had just been too blind to see it. He had been unwilling to see it. And this was the price he had to pay. If only he had said something, done something, earlier. But no, it was too late now. Silvia was sure, she had made up her mind, she was leaving.

She wasn’t angry, she was just sad, and somehow that was worse. Ermal wanted nothing more than reach up and wipe those black marks and tears on her cheeks away, but he knew his touch would not be welcome. So he sat there, on his chair. Numb, really.

Silvia told him she would call in a few days, they had things to discuss detail to sort out. But she’d give him some time to process everything. Then she got up, took her bags to her car, and left.

After what felt like hours – it might have been, or minutes, he couldn’t tell – Ermal got up, downed a glass of wine, and did the only thing he could think of.

Write to Bizio.

When he started writing, the tears also started. Ermal didn’t care that they were falling on the paper, sometimes blotting out the ink. He just needed to keep writing, keep writing, keep writing.

Finally, his head was empty, his tears all gone, his hand cramped, and the desk full of sheets of paper filled with his handwriting. He got up and went to bed (the guest bed), not even bothering to change his clothes. All he wanted now was the sweet oblivion of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the update, I hope you liked it! The next chapter might take a bit longer to arrive, because I'll be on a short holiday so I won't have a lot of time to write, and I haven't really planned much of what's coming next yet ^^


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ermal has gotten used to life without Silvia. At least he still has Bizio to talk to. His songwriting business is going well, very well, as shown by the request for a writing session from a certain artist from Rome he's been looking up to.

Almost a year had passed, since his break-up with Silvia. They had sold the apartment, and divided their furniture. They had moved on. It had taken some time for Ermal to get used to it. Of course it had, they had been together for a long time. He hadn’t been on his own in Milan before and it was a big change. He had found a place to live, on his own. That was also a first. He was a bit embarrassed to think back on how often he had called his mother, to ask for advice, to ask for tips, but mostly to fill up empty hours in the evening. But now, after so much time had passed, it had become his life and it was okay. It was okay, and he’d stopped missing Silvia. Mostly. What he now missed was someone to come home to, someone to share his thoughts with, someone to spend time with on the weekends, in the evenings. Just someone to talk to about anything. Of course, he still had Bizio, he was glad for that, he didn’t know how he would have managed without the letters, but it was not the same as having a living, breathing person, right there waiting for him when he came home late at night. A letter would not make you a cup of tea, or give you a hug when you needed one, or snuggle up to you when watching television. And Ermal missed those things.

At least the break-up had given him inspiration for a number of sad love songs. Because his song-writing business was still going well. Very well, in fact. He thought he was doing well before, but now so many people asked to work with him, sometimes it was hard to keep up. But it made him feel so proud that so many people liked his music, it was really rewarding. He was happy with his life, even though there were some things he would like to see changed.

Right now, Ermal was rushing through the streets of Milan. He was going to be late for this meeting. Maybe it was time to spend some money and hire a secretary, he thought wryly. Then they could tell him where to go when and remind him of meetings, instead of him relying on quickly scribbled notes in his calendar and post it notes stuck to his laptop screen. That method was bound to fail at some point, and it seemed today was one of those days when it did.

Finally, he made it to the office, though miraculously only five minutes late, and slid into the chair at his desk, and got out his computer. Luckily, it was a Skype meeting, and he might be able to get away with blaming updates for his delay. And it was just a wrap-up meeting anyway, nothing too important, though Ermal liked to hear back from artists or their management to learn from the experience. What did people expect when they contacted him? Were they satisfied? Could he improve in any way?

As he’d expected, the Skype meeting went well. The manager he was talking to was full of praise. He’d liked the songs that had come out of the collaboration with Ermal, and the artist had spoken very positively of the experience as well. Ermal was happy to hear this. Sometimes he felt that his way of working was something of a gamble, but overall it seemed to work. He didn’t like to just hand out songs left and right, general tunes about love or heartbreak. Of course, he still did that sometimes, when the situation called for it, or when he was contacted and asked specifically for that, but it wasn’t what he preferred. Instead, he wanted to make the songs relatable for the artist, so that they would be able to play them in a more authentic way. This involved a very personal way of working, where he met multiple times with the artist to get to know them a bit. Depending on their wishes they might try to write together, or Ermal would do all the writing, but still in close consultation with the artist. He really engaged them in the process, and tried to make the song fit the style and personality of the artist. It was the least he could do if they came especially to him. It was a strategy that seemed to work, as he’d written for, and written with, a large number of Italy’s biggest artists, and often received very positive feedback, like today. Of course, it didn’t always work, and sometimes the artists or managements that contacted him just wanted some songs and be done with it quickly. Ermal always had enough songs or ideas lying around that he could adapt, but he really enjoyed the more personal approach.

Besides the meeting going well, it also was a lot shorter than Ermal had planned for. What better to do with this sudden free time than check his email? He got some coffee, and waited impatiently for his laptop to open the browser. Finally able to access his inbox, he made his way through the numerous unread emails. They always piled up quicker than he expected. Spam, spam, unimportant news, vague newsletter, he really should go through those unnecessary subscriptions some time. Or he should get that secretary after all. A reminder of a meeting planned for next week, a request for a writing session, more spam – wait, who asked him for that writing session? Had he read that name correctly? Ermal stared at the laptop screen. It was really there, black on white.

Fabrizio Moro.

Fabrizio Moro needed his help writing songs?

Ermal could hardly believe it. He had followed the singer’s career ever since Pensa in 2007. A great musician, great guitarist, but his songs! Ermal knew Moro wrote many of his own songs, and he had always been impressed by the honesty, the feelings, the insecurities, the emotions in the lyrics, but also how Moro addressed those parts of society he did not agree with. Those songs sent a message, those songs made you think, made you want to _change_ things. And then there was the music itself, always perfect, always interesting, a musical style that refused to be put into any neat boxes.

If Ermal was honest, Moro’s music had been an inspiration for his own work, someone he had looked up to. He remembered briefly meeting him that second time at Sanremo and feeling so impressed. And now Fabrizio Moro had come to him? For a writing session? Why? What on earth could Ermal do for him?

Ermal couldn’t remember ever having been actually nervous before a writing session. They had agreed to meet a week from now, Moro being in Milan by chance, and already, he felt the nerves coursing through his veins. Would anything he was able to write actually be good enough? In the name of research, he listened to the bulk of Moro’s songs, paying attention to the music, to the lyrics, to everything. He knew it wasn’t his job to copy Moro’s style, but he wanted to write songs that actually fit his previous work. That’s what Ermal did, that was his trademark. He tried to calm himself by repeating that everything would be all right. It would. He was a song writer, the music was in his blood, he could do this, even if it was someone he looked up to asking for his help. That was fine. He could show his worth. Really, wasn’t this just a great opportunity to show what he could do?

He filled his letter to Bizio that week with descriptions of his excitement, and his nerves, and how impressed he was to be contacted at all by this person. Of course, he did it all without mentioning any details, now he had not only his own privacy to protect, but also that of Fabrizio Moro. He tried to calm himself down a bit. They hadn’t even met yet, he shouldn’t get ahead of himself and first just see what that meeting would bring. They might not even feel like a collaboration would work, after meeting. They might talk and realize that they would not be able to work together at all.

The week passed by so slowly, Ermal was counting days left before he would meet with Fabrizio Moro. And yet, at the same time, before he knew it, the day had arrived.

Ermal entered the coffee shop, greeted the barista and made his way over to his usual table. He often went to this coffee shop for a first meeting with a client. It was modern, upscale, quite fancy, and ensured enough privacy for their conversations. Also, the staff made sure that they weren’t bothered by fans, which might sometimes happen. Ermal preferred the coffee shop for a first meeting. It was more comfortable than an impersonal office, and he didn’t like to go directly to a studio, that would just focus on the music immediately. Ermal had found it didn’t work like that, music came to him when it wanted, not when it was ordered. Besides, he was not a song-writing machine, he needed the human interaction too. And his whole way of working was based around getting to know the person he was writing for. The coffee shop gave him the perfect neutral ground to do so, find out what the artist expected from him, get an idea of what kind of songs they were looking for. Sometimes he had suitable songs already written, almost ready to go, sometimes he was struck by inspiration just by the conversation, and sometimes he suggested to try writing together with the artist. It depended on the situation, really.

He had done this dozens of times before, he knew what he was doing. Then why did this feel different? He was nervous. He never was. He was also early, he knew that. Moro was not supposed to be here for another fifteen minutes. Ermal took out his laptop, but found he couldn’t focus on anything. He ended up aimlessly scrolling through his social media, only to be startled when a shadow fell over him. He looked up, closing his laptop.

“Ermal Meta?”

There he was, Fabrizio Moro. Looking just as the pictures and videos had promised. Though what the pictures and video’s hadn’t prepared him for was how his presence caught his attention, how his energy lit up the room, how his gaze was drawn by those soft eyes, and captured it when their eyes met.

Ermal took a deep breath and smiled, “Yes, that’s me.”

They shook hands, and Ermal pointed to the seat opposite him.

“Please sit down, Mr. Moro. Would you like something to drink?”

“Thank you. Coffee would be nice. Also, call me Fabrizio.”

A girl came over to take their order. Ermal decided to settle for tea, no need to assault his nerves anymore by adding a dose caffeine to the mix.

Their drinks arrived quickly, the silence before that easily filled with some questions on whether Fabrizio had been able to find the place and how he liked Milan. Ermal took the chance to subtly observe the man in front of him. He was wearing a white shirt with a black leather jacket on top of it, and although his hair was a mess, it somehow seemed an organized mess. Small black earrings, and light facial hair that only highlighted the shape of his face.

They were making some more small talk, just to make the atmosphere between them a bit more comfortable. It was rather warm in the coffee shop today, Ermal thought. Usually, he was fine with a long sleeved shirt, but not today. Fabrizio did not seem to have the same problem, as he was still wearing his jacket with the sleeves rolled up to just above his wrists. It covered most of his tattoos, but still some were peaking around the cuffs. Ermal could see a tattoo wrapped around Fabrizio’s right wrist like a bracelet, a rose above that, and he saw the edges of something unidentifiable – some kind of bird? – above that, before the sleeve of the jacket started. On his left arm, he had the sun on his hand and Ermal could see the lyrics of one of Fabrizio’s songs on his arm as well.

Realizing he might have been staring a bit, Ermal quickly decided it was time to get to the point of the meeting. The songs.

“Really, I must admit I’m flattered you contacted me! I love your music!” Ermal started, before taking a sip of his tea.

Fabrizio seemed a bit embarrassed by this.

“Thank you, truly. But, well, I’ve had some issues with inspiration lately… That’s why my last album was a compilation album. And I had another compilation album a few years ago as well… But now people really want to see some new material, and I just… am getting nowhere on my own. So someone recommended you to me. So that’s why I’m here!”

“I’m sure we can get somewhere together!” Ermal said, and proceeded to explain how he usually approached the song writing together with another artist. Fabrizio’s eyes lit up when he mentioned that he would like to really work together on this.

“That sounds great, it really does. I had a look into other songs you’ve written, and they are great, don’t get me wrong, but I’d love to be so much involved in the process!” Fabrizio said animatedly, and flashed a bright smile at Ermal.

Ermal felt his face flush a little. Fabrizio had looked into his songs and liked them? Well, of course he had looked into them before contacting him, that was only the sensible thing to do. But he liked his songs! Fabrizio Moro, the man he looked up to when it came to songs, liked his music? Ermal noticed his mouth was suddenly unusually dry, and when he wanted to take a sip of his tea, he found the cup empty. Already? Putting the cup back down a bit stupidly, he managed to return the smile.

“That’s perfect then! We can discuss the type of song you want and maybe the subject later. This is only the first meeting, maybe you can tell me a bit more about yourself first, and about your music?”

And Fabrizio did. He told Ermal about his music, what usually gave him inspiration, how some of his well-known songs came to be. He talked passionately, gesturing a lot, falling into the Roman dialect at times, and Ermal loved his enthusiasm. Their talk had quickly changed from Fabrizio telling Ermal about himself to a proper conversation, and Ermal was surprised by how easy this was. Usually there was some reserve between him and the artist, at least at that first meeting where they were trying to figure out how they would go about working together. Some awkwardness when they were trying to find what information each was looking for, what would help them get to those songs. There was nothing like that now. Ermal could tell that here was someone who shared his love for music. He was sure this collaboration would go absolutely fine. They really seemed to have a lot of ideas and opinions in common.

Before they knew it, however, it was already time to put an end to this first meeting. They’d just scheduled an hour for this, and Fabrizio had to go.

“Would it be okay to plan our next meeting via email?” Fabrizio asked Ermal. “It’s just that I’m traveling a lot the coming time and I don’t have the dates and places straight in my head.”

“Sure,” Ermal nodded in response. He got up to say his goodbyes to the other man. Fabrizio, however, hesitated, and looked a bit shyly up at Ermal.

“It’s maybe a strange question, but have we met before? You seem familiar in a way, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

Ermal smiled. “We met a few years ago at Sanremo, very briefly. I participated in the newcomer’s section with my band.”

Fabrizio nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes, that’s probably it. Well, in any case, it was really nice to meet you – again, I should probably say then – and I really look forward to working with you soon!”

He quickly shook Ermal’s hand and then made his way out of the coffee shop, into the busy street. When Fabrizio had left, Ermal stayed for a bit, finishing his second cup of tea, thinking back on the meeting. Somehow, the nerves were still a bit there. Why? It went well, they had a good connection, and on first sight similar ideas about where these songs should go and how to work together. They would have a second meeting soon, everything went smoothly. So why those nerves? Only because he looked up to Fabrizio? But now he knew him personally, at least a little, so there was no need to be _nervous_. The man had even told him he liked Ermal’s work. Still, no matter how many times he told himself it was going to be fine, there was a small, strange feeling in his stomach.

He decided to just go home, maybe he could work a bit on some songs for Fabrizio, just a start. He didn’t want to finish anything, as Fabrizio had let him know how he looked forward to being a part of the process and working together. But at least he could make a start, get some ideas already on paper, maybe some melodies written out. Just some options to have a smooth start at the next meeting.

The next day, he sent off an email to Fabrizio, giving some options for that second meeting. He found himself looking forward to it, and hoped it would be soon. He really enjoyed this meeting today, he thought to himself, even despite the nerves. It had gone really well, and time had flown by, even though they were just talking. Fabrizio’s words “you seem familiar” echoed through his head, and yes, looking back, there was something familiar about Fabrizio too. Something in his way of speaking, his way of expressing himself. Ermal had felt comfortable, a lot more so than usually when meeting people for the first time. But then, in his week of research, he had watched a lot of interviews and performances, so maybe that was where that sense of familiarity came from. That was probably it, what else could it be?

Later that day, he found a letter from Bizio in his mailbox, and he read it quickly. It contained well wishes for the meeting he had been nervous for, and Ermal smiled when reading that. The letter wasn’t as long as usual, but Bizio explained to him he was traveling across the country for work, and also had an important meeting. Ermal didn’t mind the length, he was happy that now he could tell Bizio how his own meeting had gone, while everything was still fresh in his mind. Then, he also wished Bizio good luck with his meeting. He’d mentioned before that he had some issues at work. Ermal didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he hoped that this meeting would help solve things.

Later that evening, his phone signalled that a reply had come from Fabrizio, informing Ermal that he would still be in Milan until the beginning of the next week, and that he’d be away for a few weeks after that. He hoped to meet Ermal on the Monday, if that was okay with him, so that they’d at least have a second meeting soon. Ermal didn’t have any plans, and quickly agreed. He proposed to meet in the studio, giving Fabrizio the address. It wasn’t like they already had to record anything, but he looked forward to just playing around a bit with guitars and pianos, and see where it would lead. At least he had a good feeling about.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Ermal's second meeting with Fabrizio Moro. Will this meeting bring any progress on a perfect song, or will it bring something totally different, something totally unexpected?

During the weekend, Ermal spent his day working on some songs, he felt surprisingly inspired. He might be able to use them at some point, and even if not, at least he had fun writing them. Saturday evening he met up with some friends in a bar, just for a drink and a good time. They hadn’t seen each other in a while and it was nice catching up. Sunday was spent mostly in bed, because, really, he wasn’t twenty-five anymore, and maybe he should start remembering that on Saturday nights as well.

Finally it was Monday, and Ermal made his way to the studio at the time Fabrizio ad he had agreed on. As he turned the final corner, he saw Fabrizio already waiting. He was leaning against the wall, having a smoke. Ermal’s stomach fluttered strangely at the sight. Nerves, again? Really?

Ermal huffed a sigh, greeted Fabrizio and got out his key to open the door. He fumbled a bit and it took some time to open the door. When he finally succeeded, he turned aside to allow Fabrizio to enter first, and saw a soft smile on his face. Great impression, Ermal, well done, he thought as he followed Fabrizio down the hallway of the building, and then frowned at that thought. He wasn’t trying to make any impression. Or yes, he was, but not for opening doors, rather for his music. And that would be fine.

Shaking his head to focus on the meeting at hand, he told Fabrizio where to go and asked if he would like some coffee. Receiving a positive reply, he told Fabrizio to make himself comfortable in the studio room, while he went on a search for some coffee. He came back a few minutes later and handed Fabrizio one of the damping paper cups.

Fabrizio had taken a seat on the couch that was pushed to one wall in the room. Besides that, there was an assortment of instruments and recording equipment. Ermal took a guitar and sat next to Fabrizio on the couch. He let the guitar just rest, for now, and sipped his coffee.

“Are you ready for some music?” He asked Fabrizio, suddenly a bit unsure if this wasn’t too soon, a second meeting in the studio already. He wouldn’t have minded talking some more, and discussing the direction to take. But then, they’d done that, they’d agreed on it, and it wasn’t as if they wouldn’t be able to talk now, they could. They just had the advantage that they also could play something if they wanted to, without bothering others.

“I’m looking forward to it!” Fabrizio said with a smile. Ermal couldn’t help but smile back.

“Did you have anything? Any beginnings or first drafts, or shall we start from scratch?”

Fabrizio looked away shyly, “I really have very little… I just couldn’t make it work.”

“That’s okay, don’t worry, I’ll just start. Give me a minute though, to finish my coffee.”

“You already worked on songs? But we met only a few days ago!”

“I’ve got nothing concrete, just some melodies, maybe a few lyrics. I didn’t want to work on it too much without you, you said you wanted to do this together,” Ermal answered as he put his now empty cup on the ground and took up the guitar, softly running his fingers over the strings.

“Don’t feel rushed or anything, you can finish your coffee first,” he told Fabrizio.

“It’s okay, it’s finished anyway. Okay, I’m ready – no wait, let me get rid of my sweater, it’s rather warm in here.”

Ermal was looking down at the guitar, but when he looked up it was just in time to see Fabrizio pull his sweater over his head, to reveal a Guns ‘n Roses shirt underneath. As he did so, the shirt was  pulled up too, and Ermal sat there, frozen, staring at the skin that was revealed. It looked so soft and smooth… – until Fabrizio pulled down the fabric and Ermal was free to move again. He shook his head against those thoughts, where had those come from? Fabrizio was right though, it was rather warm in here, but unlike him, Ermal had no layers to shed. The only thing he could do was maybe unbutton the top button of his shirt.

Suddenly he realized the silence, and started playing the guitar again, softly. He quickly tried to gather his thoughts.

“So tell me what you think of this,” he said softly, and started playing some chords he had come up with during the weekend.

He hardly dared to look up, unsure what Fabrizio’s reaction would be. He really had to stop this, he scolded himself, Fabrizio had come to him for help, and helping was not acting like a schoolboy at his first music lessons. So he forced himself to look at Fabrizio’s face, and found a smile there. A good sign.

“That sounds good! Do you have any ideas where to go from here?” Fabrizio asked, as he hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he had issues with inspiration, and he needed Ermal to take the lead in this.

“Last week you mentioned you started writing a lot from anger. What if we try to find that again? Just as a spark to get you going again? Is there something you are angry about, now?”

“Angry? Well, yes, politics, always politics. But Ermal, do you really think it’s a good idea to go there? I don’t want to upset anyone,” Fabrizio answered.

“The song doesn’t have to be angry, but if we can find this first topic you’re passionate about, emotional about, we can work from there. Listen, this is not about getting the perfect, finished song in one go, this is about together getting ideas, multiple ideas that we can discard later if we want, and one of these ideas at least, will be great.”

Fabrizio stared at him, and Ermal wondered if he had said something wrong.

“You’re right, it doesn’t have to be perfect in one go,” Fabrizio muttered finally.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I know that, of course I do…”

“But maybe you’d forgotten a bit in your eagerness to please your fans, please the critics? It’s okay, Fabrizio. It doesn’t have to be perfect all the time, you don’t have to be perfect all the time. Now, let’s make some music, and have fun. The rest will follow.”

Ermal continued softly playing the same set of chords over and over, while he brainstormed with Fabrizio about possible topics, working from their dissatisfaction with Italian politics, European politics, world politics. Ermal was happy to find they agreed on a lot, because only now he realized politics was maybe not the best choice for a first song writing meeting. This could have ended quite badly, if it turned out Fabrizio didn’t share his own values. But he did, and while they didn’t get far with a song, at least he got Fabrizio involved and active, rather than just waiting for Ermal to direct him to an end product. That counted for something.

They took a break, had a smoke outside, just talking, leaning against the wall next to the back door of the building. Ermal told Fabrizio some stories when he had gotten inspiration for a song in the most unlikely of places – a break up song during a Christmas dinner, a love song when a friend was venting about his relation slowly going wrong, or some song critical of society when he was walking along a peaceful beach without any people around – and Fabrizio followed that up with some of his unlikely inspirations, turning into likely inspirations, turning into just talking about his children.

This was nice, Ermal mused, he liked the times when work felt like this, when it didn’t feel like work at all, but when it was just the best way to spend the time. He had to admit, he felt like this often when just working on music on his own, but rather seldom when he was actually in a session with someone else. But listening to Fabrizio talk, with the cool outside air in their hair and the sun on their faces, yes, this was nice.

Eventually, they made their way back inside, and Ermal once more took up the guitar, but Fabrizio looked at him and shook his head. He reached out, and Ermal handed him the guitar, happy to see this change from the morning.

Fabrizio started playing some melodies and Ermal could only listen, listen and watch as Fabrizio’s hands moved over the strings. He sat there, captivated, a tiny part of his mind wondering why, he had seen an uncountable number of people play guitar before. This should be nothing special.

After a bit, Fabrizio’s hands stilled, the music stopped, and he looked up a bit self-consciously.

“That sounded great!” Ermal rushed to say, meaning it, “Can you play those again?”

Fabrizio nodded, and started playing again. Prepared this time, Ermal just proceeded to sing random sentences, he wasn’t even trying to make sense, he just wanted to fill the room with Fabrizio’s music. He knew, anything was better than silence, silence was the one thing that would destroy the tiny bit of inspiration Fabrizio had seemingly be able to find. Ermal looked up, still making up nonsense lyrics, really, they were getting worse and more ridiculous by the second, and met Fabrizio’s eyes. That was a bad idea. Because as soon as he did that, and saw the smile there, he lost all train of thought, and especially the tenuous grasp he had on lyrics, and collapsed laughing.

Fabrizio tried valiantly to keep playing, but failed, and joined him, after trying to suppressing a few first giggles.

“What were you even singing?” he managed to choke out in between laughs.

Ermal, however, was in no state to give an answer to that. He couldn’t say what was so funny. It wasn’t even funny at all. It was just such a ridiculous situation, the two of them sitting here on a couch, Fabrizio finally playing new music – and if the glimpse of relief he’d seen in his eyes before was anything to go by, that had been a while – and him making up just strings of words to keep him going. He would not have believed anyone who told him a month ago this was going to be his life. He hardly believed it now.

He really had to stop laughing. Nothing was funny, it really wasn’t. And he was a professional, it might not seem like it right now, but he was. He tried to block out everything else and focus on breathing and not laughing. Slowly, he managed to get a hold of himself again, and felt confident he would be able to look up and continue a _professional_ session. Yes.

He hadn’t taken into account Fabrizio, though, who smirked at him when he saw Ermal looking up and started playing again, and worse, singing those same nonsense lyrics as Ermal had. Ermal groaned, though it was lost in a new fit of laughter. Really, what was happening? He did the only thing he could think of, he got up – which was harder to do than it sounded like –, carefully got the guitar from Fabrizio and then walked out of the room to catch his breath. Again.

A few minutes later, he entered the room again, to see Fabrizio now lying on the couch, taking up the whole space. Ermal sighed, and sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the couch.

“I think we really found a masterpiece there,” Fabrizio chuckled, when Ermal had made himself comfortable – well, as comfortable as he could on the floor. Really, professionalism had rather gone out of the window.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what that was,” he told Fabrizio, still a bit breathlessly, and a tiny bit embarrassed, plucking some strings on the guitar.

“I know what you were trying to do, thanks, Ermal, really,” Fabrizio replied only, his voice suddenly serious.

Ermal turned his head to look at the other man.

“We’ve all had times without inspiration, and dwelling on it only makes it worse. I just hope I can help a little.”

“You definitely do.”

They were quiet for a bit, knowing that there was not really enough time left to have another serious go at writing, or playing, or anything, but also not yet ready to leave.

“Ermal? While you’re holding that guitar, can’t you sing me some of your songs? Or just anything you want?”

Ermal looked up surprised. Fabrizio wanted to hear him play, just for the sake of hearing him? Wow. Okay.

He started playing the song they’d entered Sanremo with, that year he met Fabrizio for the first time. He knew it was stupid, but he was secretly curious whether it would ring a bell. It wouldn’t, of course it wouldn’t –

“Oh, that song, I remember it!” Fabrizio whispered during a soft instrumental part, and Ermal felt his heart soften. This day was surreal, it really was, the only explanation was that he was dreaming this and would wake up to get ready for a very normal, very ordinary studio session.

He continued with a song he had written years ago for another artist, and then followed it with one of his own songs, _Odio le favole_ , one that he hadn’t given away to anyone, that was still his alone. But he wanted to share it for once. And then decided to be bold and brave, and started playing one of Fabrizio’s songs. _Sono solo parole_. He’d loved it ever since it was released, and he couldn’t let this chance pass by, he just couldn’t. And okay, maybe that wish to make a good impression was still there. He finished the last notes, and waited for a reaction, any reaction at all.

It didn’t come, and this waiting was awful. Maybe it had been a bad idea. Maybe he had done an awful job, maybe Fabrizio hated it, maybe he had messed up any impression he might have made today.

Finally, there was something. Movement, behind his back. Feet appearing on the floor next to him, followed by legs, followed by a person. Fabrizio sat down next to him. Ermal looked up at him, and was stilled by what he saw. Faint traces of tears in Fabrizio’s eyes, and something that looked scarily like admiration as well. He swallowed.

“That was beautiful,” Fabrizio whispered, “Thank you.”

Ermal could hardly believe it, surely him playing a song did not warrant such a reaction. Before he could compose himself in any way, he felt himself wrapped in strong arms. Instinctively, he returned the hug, the guitar forgotten in his lap.

The hug lasted, and lasted, lasted longer than he would have thought comfortable. Than should be comfortable. But it was. It was so comfortable. Vaguely the thought crossed his mind that he wished this would never end. But it did, eventually. Fabrizio sat back up, next to Ermal, shoulders touching. Ermal knew he should say something.

“Wow, Fabrizio, you’re welcome, really, it was my pleasure, I love that song.”

“Ermal, don’t,” Fabrizio said softly.

“Don’t what?” Ermal asked confused, feeling as if he was missing something.

“Don’t pretend like it was nothing. You played that beautifully, you sang that beautifully. I’m honoured that you would choose one of my songs.”

“Of course I would, I told you before, I like your songs. A lot.”

Ermal still felt a bit lost. Here they were, two grown men, two artists with a lot of experience, trying to convince each other that what they did was good enough. He snorted an amused laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Fabrizio asked, him now being the one feeling as he was missing something.

“We both seem to have trouble accepting a compliment.”

At that, Fabrizio also had to smile. Then he glanced at the time and pushed himself up.

“Ah, it’s time for me to go. But Ermal, thank you for today, I had a great time and I think this really helped me getting over m block.”

He reached out a hand to Ermal and pulled him to his feet as well. Fabrizio didn’t let go, but actually moved to pull Ermal in another hug. Once more, Ermal felt himself wrapped up in strong arms, enveloped by heat. Once more, he wished it would not stop. _Professional, right?,_ he thought wryly.

Finally, they let go, and Fabrizio gathered his things.

“I enjoyed it too, I’m glad I could help. Truly. Shall I email you for a next session? If you want one, of course,” Ermal said.

“Yes, that sounds good, of course I want one, we haven’t written that masterpiece yet! It’ll have to wait a few weeks though, I won’t be in Milan again soon. But I’ll let you know when I can access my calendar.”

Ermal nodded, and walked Fabrizio to the door. There he waited in the opening until the man had disappeared from sight. When he had, he closed the door and leaned against it. This had been a strange day. A very strange day.

When he had collected his things and locked up, he stepped outside and remembered he had to stop by a supermarket to get some groceries. On his walk there, he couldn’t help thinking back on that meeting today. He was absolutely certain he never had a writing session quite like this. But it hadn’t been awkward, he had definitely enjoyed himself, even though it hadn’t been what he had expected.

He quickly made his way through the aisles, he didn’t need that much. Once outside again, he noticed that it had begun to rain. Sighing, he looked up at the sky. He had been looking forward to a nice walk home, but not in weather like this. It was really too far to get home, he would be soaked. He made his way over to a nearby bus stop and got on a crowded bus that would take him to the central station, from where he could take another bus home. Despite the many people, he still managed to get a seat next to the window. He stared out of the window, watching the raindrops chase each other on the glass, letting his thoughts just wander.

He should definitely check what other meetings he had coming up next week and the week after that. Somehow, he had shifted to focus only on the meetings with Fabrizio. That wasn’t good, he was just another client, they’d had only met two times, and Ermal should focus on the other projects he had going on. He actually _was_ a professional, no matter how today’s meeting had gone.

He’d met Fabrizio only two times. It didn’t feel like that, not at all. Ermal couldn’t help but think back on that laughing fit he’d had. That was not something he would usually do at any work meeting, no matter the how often he’d seen the other person before. It wasn’t actually something he would do at all, having trouble to recall the last time he had laughed _this_ much. About nothing. About totally nothing. It had all been Fabrizio’s fault, really, that look in his eyes was the first thing. And then when Ermal had finally composed himself, he started singing. That was just mean, and he’d known exactly what he was doing.

Unprompted, his mind then moved on to replaying memories of Fabrizio playing the guitar intently, hands moving over strings, tattoos visible. He saw again that sliver of skin when Fabrizio took of his sweater. He felt again the warmth and strength of those arms when Fabrizio hugged him.

What was going on? Why did he keep thinking of those things in particular?  Yes, he was excited about working with Fabrizio Moro, but when he said that he meant the music side of things, not _those_. Or did he?

He was saved from going down that road of thoughts as the bus arrived at the station, and he got off to wait for the next one home. As he stood there, pointedly not thinking about a specific person, but failing, spectacularly failing, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and heard his name being called. He looked up.

“Dino! Nice to see you!”

“Wow, you were lost in your thoughts, I was trying to get your attention a while!”

“Yes, I was, um, just… thinking,” Ermal answered lamely, as he felt a blush heat up his cheeks. Dino looked at him curiously.

“Thinking about what? Thinking about who? I’ve seen you like this before. Tell me about her.”

Ermal almost choked on his own spit and coughed.

“There is nothing to tell, really.”

“Of course there isn’t. Last Saturday you were already a bit absentminded, but now it’s worse. Ermal, go for it, you deserve someone nice. As long as it isn’t like that blond haired girl from summer, that was a disaster.”

Ermal tried to laugh along, but really, Dino’s comments did not help. At all. Luckily, his bus arrived and he could escape his friends inquisitive glances and not-very-subtle remarks.

At home, finally alone, and finally at home, Ermal could go back to those feelings and thoughts of before. Of course he thought Fabrizio was beautiful, but that was just a fact, objectively speaking the man was very handsome. He also couldn’t deny there was some sort of connection between them, some form of attraction. But surely that was because they had a lot in common, the music, their opinions, and like Fabrizio had said, they were both survivors. See, it was just as he had known, he was happy about working with Fabrizio, he was a great musician, and Ermal desperately tried to convince himself that was all it was. An interest in getting to know the person behind the music.

But, to be honest, this didn’t explain the way his body reacted to seeing Fabrizio, or even listening to his voice. It also didn’t explain those thoughts he’d been having, the way he would see flashes of tattoos in his mind, or replay a tongue sneaking through teeth, or remember that laugh, those arms…

He had felt like this before, Dino was right, and if this was another situation, he knew exactly what was happening. But… Fabrizio was a man. And he was definitely not gay. He _knew_ that. So why? What was going on? Why couldn’t he get this man out of his thoughts?

Ermal did the only thing that might help. He took a page of paper and wrote to Bizio. He explained the whole situation. How he had met a client at work – yes, coincidentally that same one he had been nervous to meet – and he now was just captivated. He wanted to know this man better. He wanted to trace those tattoos, he wanted to run his hands up those arms, he wanted to kiss those lips and find that tongue again… – Wait. These were things Bizio definitely did not need to know. These were things he had not actually even allowed himself to think before. Where had these thoughts come from? He was farther gone than he thought. This was bad. This was very bad.

Ermal groaned, crumpled up the paper and started anew, this time keeping to the facts. Client at work. Feelings, no need for details. His confusion, his doubts, his uncertainty. Why did he feel like this? But more importantly, what should he do? Should he do anything? Really, what were the chances that his… _interest_ would be returned? And even then, Fabrizio was his client, for god’s sake, it was a professional relationship, what was he even thinking? He should just ignore it, really, that was the best thing to do. He knew that. But at the same time, he was curious. He wasn’t one to shy away from revelations about himself, even though this one rather upturned his world a bit. He was curious, how would it be, to be together with a man, but this man in particular?

Now that these thoughts were here, acknowledged, now that these feelings were here, acknowledged, it seemed he had opened a whole new door. If he thought Fabrizio had been occupying his thoughts before, he had been wrong, because it was nothing compared to what it was now. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of brown eyes, skin marked by tattoos, arms in a leather jacket, he again felt those arms around him, hot breath on his neck. One night he even had a dream that left absolutely no doubt that he should maybe consider himself bisexual. Or at the very least attracted to both women and a certain Fabrizio Moro.

He hoped that Bizio could help him with this, even if he couldn’t tell him what to do, at least he could calm him down a bit and put things in perspective. So he waited a bit impatiently for Bizio’s reply, lucky at least that he didn’t have any meetings with Fabrizio for a while. He was sure he would not survive those, not with his head full of those thoughts, of those _images_ as it was. Now he had some time to compose himself and decide what to do. Finally, the letter arrived, and Ermal read it eagerly. Of course, Bizio took it seriously, he hadn’t expected anything different. Some lines stood out to Ermal, somehow calming his thoughts.

_Even when you’re straight, there can be this one person who defies all rules. Why not go for it and see where it ends? Show your interest, see how he responds, you might be surprised by the results!_

He continued to reassure Ermal that anything he felt was okay, any decision he would make was okay. It was a difficult situation, this man being a client. But really, they were both adults, and the collaboration would not go on indefinitely. Just begin subtly and see where it would end up. As Ermal already mentioned, the man might not even be interested in Ermal in that way and then he would have an answer. And well, if he was interested, they could take it from there. Ermal had to huff a breath when he realized that what Bizio basically told him was to stop worrying and take things as they came. Wasn’t that a lesson he had often wished he’d learned before?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of this chapter and the story so far, I really love to read your comments!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bizio and Ermal are just sending their letters, keeping each other updated on what goes on in their lives.

_Milan, 14-11-2018_

_Dear Bizio,_

_Bizio, thank you for your answer. Really, thank you for taking me so seriously – though I didn’t doubt you would. Objectively, I know there is nothing wrong with how I feel. I know that. I just never had expected this to happen. I'm 37, shouldn't I have had questions like these before? Anyway, I will take your advice. I am going to go for it and show him how I feel. Flirt with him. You know, the thought alone makes me feel like a teenage boy. Just the possibility of it._

_But I don't want to get my hopes up. I'm trying so hard not to get my hopes up. The chance is so small that he's interested in men, the chance is even smaller that he is interested in me. Really, you should see him… He is out of my league, I bet he doesn't even think twice about me. But I want to try. I don't think I can live with myself if I let this go. I have to try, but God, it is scary._

_Because, Bizio, it's not just that the chance he likes me like that is so small, the problems don't end there. I mean, I know he's single, that's one thing I made sure. But he has a family. He has a career, a reputation to keep. I have a career. We both know that Italy is not the most open-minded country. I don't want to ruin any of these things important to us. Sometimes I lie awake at night and my mind just goes over the possibilities. What if, miraculously, he does like me, but still it can never be because of any of those reasons? What if he's okay with it, but his children don't like me? What if it impacts our careers? Friendships? What if he lets me down easy because of any of those reasons? Won't that be worse, knowing what could have been if only the circumstances were different?_

_But still, I have to try, I have to try because of that infinitesimal chance it might work out. So I'll flirt with him. Subtly. So subtly. I've never done this before, not with a man, and I'm so afraid of messing it up. And I should remember, I'm at work when I meet him. They're not dates, even though my head sometimes wants to see the meetings with him like that._

_Oh, Bizio, I'm so far gone already, and I know it. As soon as I realized and accepted how I felt, it was clear that if fallen hard. Even my friends comment on it, wondering who the lucky lady is. I haven't told them yet, it’s not that I'm ashamed, it's just, there is no point if this goes nowhere. I swear I did not mean to write so much about this, but you are actually the only one who knows... My pen just got away from me, I'm sorry. I just want to say I'm really happy I can talk to you about this._

_Okay, now let me tell you about other things I've been up to. You wouldn't believe it, but I have actually been thinking of other things too. Quite a lot actually, because I've been busy. You know how this time of year everyone realizes that they really want to finish their projects before the Christmas break and they push everyone around them to make it happen even though it's clear from the start that they will never make it? I've been in and out of meetings almost nonstop for two weeks now, pretty much everything scheduled at the last minute. And with all those meetings that everyone really absolutely has to have immediately, they're surprised that I haven't yet finished the tasks they asked of me even though I warned them that I wouldn't. Why don't people just listen?_

_Anyway, on the fun side, my sister visited with the children because her husband had to be here for business, so we spent a lovely weekend together. The children were so sweet, they hadn't seen me in quite a while, but still it took them no time at all to get used to me, they weren't even shy at all. The weather was good so we took them to a large playground and it was so great to see them have so much fun. And then they left again, and I realized that my whole family lives on the other side of the country. I know moving here was a good decision, and I have friends here, but sometimes it just hits me so hard that my family is so far away. I was thinking back, and the last time I’ve seen my mother was in the summer… I really should make an effort to visit them more often. I’m self-employed, I can make the time for it, so I really have no excuses. At least I’ll see them all in a few weeks for the holidays. I’m really looking forward to that!_

_But yes, now I’m back to meeting after meeting (yes, also some with him. I’ll let you know how that goes), and I’m literally counting the days until I can get on that flight home and see my family again! I hope you’re doing well, not too busy in this before-Christmas madness, and we’ll talk soon! _

_\- Ermal_

_P.S. I was looking over this letter, and I realize I’m mostly talking about my ‘love-life’ (or lack thereof) and I’m sorry for being such a teenager about this… Next time I’ll try to be a bit more diverse in the things I’m writing about!_

 

_Napoli, 29-11-2018_

_Dear Ermal,_

_Even though this is dated in Napoli, I've written this all over Italy. Literally, even, as I wrote a bit when I was on a plane as well. These weeks are crazy, I'm traveling so much. I totally get what you mean when you say people need to finish projects before the break. I need that break. So, as you see, I’m just as affected by this pre-Christmas madness as you are! But you can as usual address your letters to Rome, I will find them there eventually, as I have planned some days off in between my work trips._

_Actually, I also was in Milan the other day. It was strange, I always think of it as your city now. The thought struck me that I know your address, I could have dropped by, visited you. I didn't, I still like this mystery that we've had for so many years and I believe you feel the same as well. Our relationship would change if we ever met, and I just really like what we have now. So I didn't (and it’s needless to say, of course I won’t ever, not without asking you first). I didn't even look up where in the city you live. Not that I would have had time if I wanted to visit you, my days were packed full with meetings and dinners and things. But still, I couldn't help but wonder. Did I pass you on the street? Did I bump into you in the supermarket? Shared a metro compartment? Who knows, we might even have talked to each other briefly. Would we ever know? What kind of impression would we leave on each other in real life?_

_Sometimes it strikes me that we actually know nothing about each other, even though we know each other's deepest secrets. It's so surreal. I could never have believed it would lead to this, picking up that bottle all those years ago. But please know that I am so glad to have you in my life like this, especially like this._

_There’s something I wanted to tell you, because I don’t know who else to go to. You also can’t help me with this, but at least you can listen. Some time ago, I had taken the children to my parents for a visit. The whole morning it was raining so they'd been cooped up inside the whole time. A was fine, playing with her Lego, but L was getting restless and started to get annoying, kicking a ball inside, that sort of thing. So when the rain finally let up a bit, I took him for a walk in the neighbourhood. We had a great time, I showed him my old school and told him stories about when I was young, he was really interested and it was so sweet. Then we went to a cafe for some hot chocolate. It was a place I used to go to with my old friends, I didn't think of it at all. But L and me were sitting there for a while, just laughing, drinking our chocolate, when suddenly someone sat down at our table. It was one of my old friends. And when I now say old friend, I don't mean someone I was hoping to ever see again. Last thing I'd heard was that he was in prison, so I was actually surprised to see him there. Maybe I shouldn’t have been._

_Ermal, I didn't know what to do, all I knew was that I did not want him around my son. I don’t want him around me, either, but especially not around my children. But I couldn't just get up and leave, I didn't want him to ruin the nice afternoon I was having. I just tried to make him go away by giving the shortest answers I could. I tried to act normally, I didn't want L to know anything was wrong. But it was so uncomfortable. I was scared. I don't know why, but I was. I thought I was free of this. Relatively free, at least._

_Luckily, pretty soon he got a call and left, but it felt like hours and it had left me shaken. I could feel L looking at me, but he didn't ask any of the questions I knew he would have. He just went back to talking about what we had been talking about before, like nothing happened. He's such a sweet boy, I don't know how I deserve him. I just hope he never makes the same mistakes I did. I will tell him about my past, he deserves to know. But not yet, and on my terms, not like this. I don't want to think of what could have happened. But it's just that, nothing actually happened, and still I can't stop thinking about it. I know I'm overreacting, and there is nothing you can do, but I just wanted to tell someone. I’m sure he won’t make any problems, he that’s what he wanted, he would have done it before. So I’m not afraid of that. I just can’t believe how just seeing him for a few minutes has left me so uncomfortable…_

_L didn’t talk about it again, but then he’s preoccupied by something else. In a few weeks, he has football try-outs to play on a higher level team. The coach has told me he has a good chance to make the team, and I’m so proud of him. G and I will of course both be there to support him. It’s great to see how much he loves to play, so I hope it will go well for him._

_Recently, A has started to ask for dancing lessons. A girl her age, you might expect her to want to do ballet or something. But no. Not she. She’s told us she wants to learn break dance, because she finds it so amazing to look at. Really, she’s five years old. What are we going to do with this girl? I’ve been thinking about taking her to a gymnastics class, she’ll learn similar moves there and it just… seems a bit nicer for my baby girl. At least when she’s still so young. Of course I won’t stop her if she feels the same when she’s older._

_But to get back to your letter, don’t feel bad for talking about how you feel. I understand that it’s a difficult situation, and so new to you. But like I said before, just see where life takes you, the both of you. If the interest is mutual – if, I know that chance is small, as you say, though I can’t agree with you that you’re out of anyone’s league, because from what I know of you, anyone should be lucky to have you – if the interest is mutual, you can talk about those issues you mention. Ermal, it is not your job to solve everything by yourself. Wait and see what happens, wait and see to find out which of those issues are actually going to be problems. I don’t want to pretend they aren’t very valid concerns, because they are (except the friendships, because really, if either of you loses friendships just because you’re in a relationship with a man, those aren’t very good friends to begin with and you should be happy to be rid of them), but right now you firstly can’t do anything about them, and secondly they might not be a problem for him, or at all. Please, try not to worry so much, I know it’s easy for me to say, but it is not helping you. Take it slowly, and I really hope things will work out for you._

_Anyway, I should stop here and send this letter while I have some time to hunt for a post box. Please keep me updated about your mission!_

_\- Bizio_

 

_Bari, 22-12-2018_

_Dear Bizio,_

_I’m sorry for this late reply! The last few weeks were so busy and a bit stressful. I’ll tell you what happened. We had planned a family Christmas at my mother’s place, even my grandmother was going to visit from Albania, she had booked a ticket for the ferry and everything. Then a week before she was supposed to leave, she called my mother to say that she was quite ill – and for her to admit that is a big deal, then really something serious is going on. So we were all a bit in a panic, even looked at plane tickets to visit her instead, but that would cost a fortune to go there last minute and so close to the holidays. So we didn’t know what to do, and how it would go, and while my brother and sister were already in Bari, I was on the other side of the country, and I felt so powerless_. _I was on the phone with my mother every evening, just to hear any updates._ _Luckily, my grandmother quickly recovered, miraculously, really, and she even made the trip to Italy, now she’s safe and in good health in Bari, and I am too._

_But we had such a scare! Really, this really made us realize that she won’t always be here. I don’t want to think about it, none of us do. I don’t know what I would do without her, I might not see her often, but she’s been such a steady, grounding presence all throughout my life… I would miss her so much. But the good news is, she is all right, and she’s here, and we all get to spend the holidays together at least._

_And it is already almost Christmas, can you believe it? Time really does fly. Anyway, happy (early) Christmas to you, Bizio! Or to keep it fitting in with the Albanian theme I’m surrounded by: Gëzuar Krishtlindjet! Usually I don’t care that much about the holidays, but this year I am really looking forward to my grandmother and mother cooking traditional Albanian dishes. Of course, we mostly celebrate at New Year’s, rather than Christmas itself, and we will exchange presents then. Are you spending the holidays with your family in Rome? I have to admit, with everything going on I totally forgot to get you a present, and I promise you I will send you something with the next letter, I have something in mind already which I think you will like._

_I’m sorry to hear about that meeting with your ‘friend’. It sounds really uncomfortable, especially because you was with your young son. Those are worlds I understand you don’t want to see colliding. I think it is natural that it made you scared, even though there was no immediate danger. Even I can imagine possible scenarios – unlikely ones, but possible nonetheless. Luckily everything went well, and L sounds like a smart boy who is very good at staying out of trouble. Listen, Bizio, keep an eye on things, but I’m sure it will be fine, from what you’ve said it doesn’t seem like he bothered you much in the cafe, even, and if there are further problems, you can always talk either to him or go to the police. It will be fine. Everything will be fine. You have a good life now, and believe me when I say I understand how it feels when you past comes back to haunt you, but you are strong, so strong, stronger than anything that might be thrown your way. But let me know if you need to talk about it some more, okay?_

_I wish L the best of luck with his football try-outs! Who knows, maybe your son will be the next Totti! Please let me know how it went! And about A and her dancing, she sounds like a little girl with great plans. Probably gymnastics is a good option for now, though think of how it would look to see a little five-year old girl breakdancing, wouldn’t that be a sight?_

_Then, finally, you asked for an update on my ‘mission’. That makes it sound so cool, like an undercover agent or spy kind of thing. It is not, it is really not. I feel like the biggest fool who ever tried his hand at flirting, really. But it seems to work? Maybe it is just my imagination, maybe it is just wishful thinking, but really, I haven’t been shot down yet. There is still hope. But it makes me so nervous, it makes me doubt myself so much. What if I’m too subtle? What if he doesn’t notice it? What if he thinks it’s just me being friendly because we’ve been working together for a while now? But I don’t want to make it any more obvious, I don’t dare to, it’s still work meetings, that is really what should be my priority._

_These worries aside – I can just hear you telling me I should stop worrying, I know, Bizio, but it’s so difficult – it seems to be going well. More smiles, more eye contact, the occasional compliment, a touch here and there if I’m feeling bold… He hasn’t taken his distance yet, he seems to welcome it, even. So either he has no idea what I’m trying to do, or my advances are welcome._

_… Advances? Really, advances, what am I? Some kind of period drama heroine? Really, Bizio, this is driving me mad. How do people do this? How did I do this, before? I feel like a walking disaster. I’m not going to tell you too many details, first because you probably don’t want to hear them, and secondly because now you might still believe me to not be a total incompetent idiot._

_After the holidays I’ll just go on as I was before. If anything interesting happens, you’ll be the first to know! I hope you have some time off and can spend it with your family, and I want to wish you a merry Christmas and a happy new year!_

_\- Ermal_

 

_Rome, 07-01-2019_

_Dear Ermal,_

_I’m so sorry to hear about your grandmother being ill! I’m glad and relieved she’s okay now, but I can imagine how scary it was and how helpless it made you feel. At least you got to spend the holidays all together, that must have been really nice, I’m happy for all of you! Also, happy new year! 2019 already, can you believe it?_

_Anyway, I haven’t forgotten your present (I’m just kidding, don’t worry about it!), and I’m hoping you will like it. Someone told me about this book, and I just thought it would be the perfect thing for you! It sounds like it’s something you’d enjoy. Please tell me what you think of it!_

_G was on a holiday with her family, and the children were with me. We had a quiet time, just the three of us. It was so nice, I know I haven’t been spending enough time with them lately. I didn’t want to invite anyone else, because that would only lead to them having to share me with others again. G dropped them off, and when they were playing, she handed me a box with some of their presents. We’d coordinated the gifts for the children, and I knew she included something for me too, so that A wouldn’t get upset if I didn’t get anything._

_So at Christmas, we played a lot of games, watched movies, I cooked dinner. It really feels like I could catch up on what L and A are doing – I mean I know, but I know most things from what G told me, and now I actually got a chance to really talk with them and they could tell me themselves. They’re growing up so fast! It makes me aware of how much I’m missing out on. Of course, we also unwrapped all the presents, and they were so happy with all their new toys and books, but also thankful, they really are great kids. And now I will always carry them with me – even more than I already do, of course – because my presents from Santa included a simple leather bracelet with a small charm, L and A both have the same one, so we’ll think of each other when we wear it. And they also gave me a reusable leather notebook cover with some pages filled with pictures of the children and their drawings. It is beautiful, and to be honest, it almost made me cry._

_How do I deserve children like these, so sweet, so forgiving, when I’m away so much and they have to miss me so often? I know how hard it is on them, to have a father that is away from home a lot, that misses important events in their lives, because he always has to work… And yet, they never hold it against me, they always love me just the same. It’s a miracle, really, and one of my New Year’s resolutions (well, the only one, because usually I don’t do these resolutions) is to spend more time with them this year. They need me to be there for them, and they deserve it._

_Okay, Ermal, I didn't want to steal your spotlight before, but I need to talk about this. I also met someone at work. Someone kind, someone funny, someone who looks like an angel… To be brief, someone perfect._

_I understood your worries before, I understood the problems you told me you saw in your way, of course I did, I could imagine them. But now I know myself and I almost feel bad for telling you not to worry because that is pretty much impossible. I, too, wish to be professional. Just do my job and do it well. But it is so hard sometimes. Sometimes I just want to throw caution into the wind and just go for it and deal with the consequences later. I know that would be the worst idea and I won't do it. I have that much self-control. But just imagine, one hour without any consequences... I know what I would do... Start with a kiss and go on from there – I’m sorry, you probably did not want to know that. Let's move on from this fantasy._

_Because in all seriousness, I found a worry that didn't even cross your mind. I mean, you have enough to worry about, so be glad it's not this too. Because for me, if it would work out, it would be a long distance thing (see, I'm not even allowing myself to think the word relationship, it will most likely never be and I'm saving myself the heart break (please tell me I'm doing a better job of convincing you than myself, because for me it is not working)). But yes, long distance. What are the chances of that working out in the long term? Pretty small if you ask me. So I should just forget about it. And sometimes (very seldom) I succeed. At least, until one tiny thing reminds me of everything and my treacherous brain tells me all the things I told you. To just go for it, see where it ends, just try. _

_I'm so conflicted, at times it seems it would be so easy, sometimes I can make myself believe we would fit together perfectly. But what am I basing that on? A work relationship and a hand full of meetings. The rest is my fantasy filling in the details. It is pathetic. On the other hand, similar to you, I also can't walk away from this. Something inside of me won’t forget, and won’t forgive me for turning away without trying. So I'm going to take my own advice and see where it will end._

_For now though, your love life holds a lot more promise, so let's focus on that. How's the conquest going? You know what they say, persistence will pay off!_

_\- Bizio_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit of a different chapter, just with the letters like this. Please let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter. A date. A realization (yes, finally).

_Milan, 24-01-2019_

_Dear Bizio,_

_Thank you so much for the book, I really love it! I have told so many people I wanted to read it, it’s a surprise I didn’t tell you myself! Thank you! I have now finally attached your present, it’s a cd, and I have been listening to it a lot lately, and I think you’ll like it too! Please tell me whether I’m right or not! ~~~~_

_The stories you tell me of your children are so sweet, they always make me smile, they really sound great! I’d almost be tempted to agree to meet you just so I can meet them. The presents you got from “Santa” are so thoughtful, the notebook cover sounds so useful and then you always have their pictures with you where you can see them. And the bracelets, that is just so cute. Maybe I should steal that idea and get my siblings some! But I really hope that your work will calm down a bit and you can spend a lot of time with your children this year, they don’t only deserve it, you do too!_

_I’m happy for you about meeting someone! And I know (oh, how I know), all your worries are valid, they really are, but Bizio, take your own advice and go for it! Like you told me, you never know where it will end, and you can work through each problem when it is right in front of you. It seems to be working out for me, so it should for you too! (Though really, thanks for adding to my heap of possible problems. I hadn’t even thought of it, focused as I was on all other issues, but for me it would be a long-distance thing too. Great. Thanks. Damn.)_

_But okay, moving on to my love life. Although that’s a bit a big term for it, it’s still pretty much all in my head. But, I’m getting more hopeful every time we meet. After the holidays I realized how much I’d missed him not seeing him even for a few weeks – I know I’m in to deep, yes, thanks for informing me – so I just was… slightly less subtle at the last few meetings. I’m sure he knows what I’m trying to do, he has to. And he’s still here, I can’t believe it. I’d have thought he’d be scared away by now, but no, he even suggested to meet more often. Bizio, I almost don’t dare believe this is real, that this is really happening._

_But still, I also can’t believe myself anymore when I try to tell myself I’m just imagining things. Too many touches have been reciprocated, too many times we’ve made seemingly innocent comments that we both knew not to be so innocent at all. And I’m saying ‘we’, because it’s not just me, I’m convinced it’s not just me. The things he’s said… the looks he’s given me, there is no way that is all just friendly. There is no way. The other day I looked up to see him staring at me, at my face, and we were sitting quite closely anyway, and really, I almost thought he would kiss me. He didn’t, and the disappointment I felt was almost unbearable. As I said, I am convinced this is not just me, and I’m slowly thinking it will just be a matter of time._

_We’ve had lunch together before, just as a logical continuation of a meeting, but I’m considering taking it a step further. Ask him out for a drink, maybe, something that is obviously not just work. Something that is obviously getting to know him personally. Right now, I’m pretty confident he would say yes. Still, that would leave no room to pretend none of this happened, so it’s still a big step to take. I know you would tell me to go for it, and I want to, but I shouldn’t forget that, still, this is work in the first place. Though, a small voice is whispering to me that our business could have been concluded before, if we had wanted to. Somehow we’re never done, we can always find another reason to plan a new meeting. I know I am sometimes just making up reasons, only so I can see him one more time at least. But he doesn’t have to know that. And he seems to do the same. At least, sometimes his reasons are just… not so convincing. I’ve been doing my job for years now, I know what would be reasonable, and it’s just not. But I’m not complaining, if it means he wants to see me again too._

_God, Bizio, I’m sorry, another letter consisting mostly of me talking about this. I had promised I wouldn’t do this anymore, but it seems I can’t help myself. At least it’s all good news. The more I think about this, and writing it all out on paper like this, I really am confident he feels the same as me. And if not, well, I’m almost ready to just take the chance. I’m done with subtlety, I just want to know where we stand. But I’m 90% confident he returns my interest. Oh, I’m so happy, I can’t believe it!_

_But yes, sorry about this letter. I didn’t mean to write all this, and I just hope things for you will work out too. And I’m just going to repeat it, go for it, just try, and see where it ends. You deserve this love in your life, Bizio, go for it, and keep me updated as well (and don’t feel like you’re rambling too much, you can always talk to me about it, because look at what I’ve been doing for weeks now). Good luck!_

_\- Ermal_

 

That afternoon, Ermal had posted his latest reply to Bizio, and then hurried on to his next meeting with Fabrizio. Ermal checked the time and sighed, the meeting with Fabrizio should really come to an end. But he didn’t want it to. At the beginning of the meeting they had actually made good progress on a song, but now they’d fallen into a game of one playing chords and the other guessing the song. Couldn’t they just stay like this?

“Are you free tonight? Maybe we could go for… dinner together?” he suggested, at the last minute afraid to ask for drinks, but then, dinner could also involve some drinks and at least they would spend time together. At least, if Fabrizio would agree. A bit uncertainly, Ermal looked up at the other man, but to his relief he was greeted by a warm smile.

“That would be great!”

Ermal locked up the studio behind them, and then turned back to face Fabrizio.

“It’s still early, shall I text you the address of a nice restaurant, so we can meet there later?”

For a second it seemed as if Fabrizio wanted to suggest something else, but then he nodded, and Ermal smiled at him.

“Perfect, then I’ll see you later!”

Out of habit, he pulled Fabrizio into a quick hug, making sure not to linger too long. He then made his way home, almost with a spring in his step. He felt a bit foolish to feel like this about a simple accepted dinner invitation, and he knew it was possible Fabrizio did not see this as a date, but it could be one. They were meeting after the work day had ended, without any pretence of having a work-related reason for it, just the two of them out for dinner at a restaurant. That sounded like a date, didn’t it? Surely, that had also crossed Fabrizio’s mind, it had to after the tension between them building up for weeks now. And yet, he had accepted immediately, gladly, without showing a single doubt.

At home, some time later, Ermal was staring at his closet. They’d agreed on a place, and on a time, so now all that was left was an outfit. It really shouldn’t be that hard to choose something to wear, but somehow it was. Part of him, that teenage girl getting ready for a first date, was wondering why he had never exchanged phone numbers with Bizio. He could have sent him pictures on possible outfits and gotten the perfect advice. As it was, he could only ask his friends, and he knew them. They would joke and tease him about it, and he would have no answer for his troubles, so it was better not to bother at all.

A t-shirt was too casual, he didn’t feel like wearing a jacket… Just a button-up? It was a bit boring maybe, he also wore those to work a lot. He looked over to the side of the closet where he had some shirts for special occasions. Well, when he said ‘special occasion’ he just meant that he should wear them only occasionally. They were the bold choices. The patterned shirts. The ones some ( _many_ , his brother’s voice corrected helpfully in his mind) might find ugly. Ermal, however, loved them. In a second, he decided that tonight was the perfect evening to make a bold choice. He shrugged on his favourite shirt and started closing the buttons. At the top he hesitated. He would usually close them all, but he had noticed Fabrizio seemed to have a dislike to doing just that. Ermal could go for some subtle influencing and open one more button than he would usually do. Maybe that would get Fabrizio’s interest?

He then made his way to his living room and just stared at the hands of the clock, waiting, waiting, waiting until it was time to go and meet Fabrizio. For a date. Ermal couldn’t help but smile as he felt something flutter in his chest. A date. With Fabrizio.

Finally, it was time to go and he walked to the restaurant. It wasn’t too far from where he lived, and the evening was a nice one, although a bit cold. On his walk, he started worrying, of course he did. He was early, but not extremely early. Would Fabrizio already be there? Where would he be waiting? Maybe he wasn’t there yet, and then Ermal had to decide. Wait inside? Wait outside? A tiny, rational part of his brain was glad that this was what occupied his thoughts, and not doubts about this whole date in general. That was good.

What was also good, was that Ermal found Fabrizio already in front of the restaurant. Waiting for him. When he saw Ermal approaching, he flashed a smile (so bright), and put back the lighter and the cigarette he was about to light. He hadn’t been waiting long then, Ermal thought.

“We can have a smoke first, if you want to,” he told Fabrizio, when he surfaced from the hug the other man had offered as a greeting.

“No, that’s okay, let’s go inside, I’m actually hungry!” Fabrizio said, and Ermal just nodded, leading the way inside. They were shown to a table in the back of the restaurant, complete with a lit candle to set the mood.

Ermal took of his coat and put it on the back of the chair and then sat down, Fabrizio following his example. They ordered a carafe of wine and decided to share a starter. During dinner, conversation flowed smoothly, and Ermal was hardly exaggerating when he thought he felt sparks fly anytime their eyes met or their legs brushed underneath the table. After the main course, Ermal decided not to have dessert, but Fabrizio quickly ordered his with two spoons, and they ended up sharing that, too. The teenage girl in Ermal’s mind couldn’t help squealing over this, that was intimate, right? This was a good sign, right?

At some point, Fabrizio took off the leather jacket he was wearing, and Ermal watched. Unlike that time weeks ago when Fabrizio took of his sweater, and Ermal was captivated, he now didn’t try to hide it. There was no confusion, and no shame. He just stared, unabashedly, almost daring the other man to notice and do with the implicit information what he wanted.

After dessert, they sat there for a while, sipping their wine, still talking. Somehow the conversation turned to their Christmas break, which they hadn’t discussed before, focused on the future and music as they’d been during their other meetings.

“I didn’t do anything special,” Ermal explained, “I visited my family, that was nice, I hadn’t seen them in a while, so it was good to spend some more time with them and celebrate Christmas together. What did you do?”

“My ex was away on a holiday, so I had the children for Christmas. I mostly tried to make it a great time for them, playing games, baking cookies, watching traditional Christmas movies, all that. Oh, let me show you what Santa gave me for being good this year!”

Fabrizio rummaged through the inner pocket of his coat and got out a small book of some sort. When he opened it, Ermal saw it was the notebook he used to write drafts of songs and ideas for lyrics in.

“Look, I got this reusable cover, and see, there are these folders to put notes or something in, and I got it all filled with pictures of the children, I love it so much! Did I ever show you pictures of them?”

“Just quickly, in passing, I think, but I’d love to see them!” Ermal replied, eager for more information about this man’s personal life, excited that Fabrizio deemed worthy enough to share it with.

“Okay, so this is my son, Libero, here he’s playing football in the back garden. He loves to play, and he’s actually quite good at it. And this then is my daughter Anita, she’s growing up to be a big girl already! This picture was taken on a holiday, just before a sea gull stole her ice cream. And here, this is my favourite picture of us all together, look!”

Ermal looked, and was touched by the enthusiasm and sheer love plain in Fabrizio’s words.

“And I also got this,” Fabrizio continued, putting the notebook back again and extending his hand to Ermal.

“The bracelet. Libero and Anita have the same, so we are always reminded of each other. Isn’t it cute?”

“It is,” Ermal breathed, taking Fabrizio’s hand, excused by taking a better look at the bracelet.

Something tickled in the back of his mind, something telling him to make a connection between thoughts. Something about this was familiar, like someone else had shown him the same things as well, it was almost a déjà vu. But then, he was certain he hadn’t actually _seen_ anything like this before. He just couldn’t put his finger on it, though, and tried to ignore it.

Tried to, because no matter how he focused on the man in front of him, his mind told him that he should pay attention to this feeling, figure out what was going on. It was tiring and upsetting, as he felt himself becoming more distant than he planned to. But he couldn’t change it, even though he wanted to.

Their evening naturally came to an end as the restaurant’s staff hinted subtly that they would really like to close if no more food or drinks were ordered. They stood for a while together on the street, smoking a cigarette, a last way to prolong the evening. Because no matter how he felt, Ermal didn’t want this to end, he really had had the most amazing evening.

Apparently, so had Fabrizio, because he told Ermal so, and added, “I’d love to do this again sometime.”

He then moved in for a hug and Ermal held on tight, a bit too tight, a bit too long, but it didn’t seem like either of them minded, and just before they finally broke apart, Ermal felt searing hot lips brush the skin next to his ear, not quite his cheek, but not quite his neck either. He couldn’t supress a shiver and when he looked at the other man he was captured by liquid eyes.

“Thank you, Ermal, sleep well!” Fabrizio said, his voice lower than usually, and then he turned to make his way to the hotel he was staying in. Ermal watched him go, and went home as well.

That same, strange feeling of missing something obvious, something important, still was there in the back of his mind, somehow growing stronger as time went on. It was there when he changed out of his clothes, it was there when he brushed his teeth, it was there when he closed his eyes.

It wasn’t there when he woke up. Because he woke up with a shock, the shock of realization hitting him. He knew why those things Fabrizio showed him seemed familiar. They were familiar, someone else had told him about them. _Bizio_ had told him about it, hadn’t he?

In the weak light of the early morning he got up and got out the box he kept all of Bizio’s letters in. He picked up the most recent one and reread it. Focused on the part where he describes his Christmas gifts. The bracelets. The notebook cover. The pictures.

It was all there.

He felt it couldn’t be just a coincidence, but his mind shied away from the implications if it wasn’t. But surely, it couldn’t be? He wanted to laugh, the idea that Bizio was Fabrizio Moro was so ridiculous, surely it wasn’t true. But it was right there, staring him in the face, this was not a coincidence, that couldn’t be either.

He wanted to go back to sleep, to not think about this, to ignore this, and pretend nothing was going on. But he wasn’t one to lie to himself, not about important things like this, and he knew his mind would not be calm until he had thought this through properly.

What he needed was more proof, more proof that these two men were indeed the same person, more proof than just Christmas gifts. Because it could still all be a coincidence. It could, the stubborn part of his mind kept telling him. A larger part of his mind, however, had apparently already accepted it, and was able to rationally think about it. That was impressive, really.

He started at the beginning. He knew Bizio had wanted to be a musician, and Fabrizio was. Bizio had never actually told him what he did, but with all the travelling, it would make sense. Wait, the travelling. He got out the stack of letters he’d received since he started working with Fabrizio. As far as he could tell, they seemed to match up with when Fabrizio had been in Rome to find them.

He knew about Bizio’s past, and he knew about Fabrizio’s past. They were strikingly similar, now that he thought about it. And they both had two children, a boy and a girl. The ages matched. Their names matched the letters Bizio used. And the presents.

This wasn’t a coincidence. Bizio was Fabrizio Moro. Fabrizio Moro was Bizio. He was sure of it.                                                                                                                         

Ermal didn’t know if he should laugh or cry, and in the end did neither. He was so calm about this, he was sure it wasn’t healthy. But then, it was what it was, he couldn’t deny the facts staring up at him, he couldn’t ignore this. And what good would a break-down be? It wouldn’t change anything.

His thoughts wandered to Fabrizio. Did he know? Ermal didn’t think so. He had never suggested in any way that he knew more about Ermal than he had told him in those meetings. He had never made any comments that could be interpreted in a way that made it clear he knew who Ermal was. Only yesterday, when he started talking about the gifts he’d gotten, that might have been a clue. But more likely it was just Fabrizio being proud of his children and showing off. Ermal was sure that that was it, nothing more. Because Fabrizio had been clearly happy to talk about his children and show the pictures, there had been no inquisitive looks or double meanings of any sort. So Ermal was the first one to figure it out. He should tell Bizio. Or Fabrizio. He deserved to know. He had another meeting with Fabrizio in a few days, he could tell him then.

Ermal checked the time, it was still early, and he had only a meeting to record some music in the afternoon. He had enough time to dwell on this a bit more. He took the box of letters to the kitchen, got himself some coffee and started reading the letters. He started with the newest ones and made his way back, knowing well that he did not have time to reread all the hundreds and hundreds of letters. As he read, his mind was uncomfortably assaulted by the implications of Bizio being Fabrizio.

He had told him about meeting this man who made him change his mind about himself in a most profound way. Told him details that would be embarrassing if anyone else than Bizio, his closest friend in a way, would know them. And now it turned out he had told them to Fabrizio, who was the person he was talking about?

Oh god.

He was definitely not calm now. He hadn’t even thought before of what this would mean for their relationship. Any relationship. This would change everything, wouldn’t it? This knowledge… it would change how he wrote to Bizio, but it also changed how he saw Fabrizio. He couldn’t go back now to how it was before. They had actually met, and he had been right all those years, it _changed_ things. He didn’t want to lose either Bizio or Fabrizio, he couldn’t. Even now, the only person he wanted to talk to, who he was sure would understand, was Bizio. But he couldn’t. What should he do?

What he wanted to do was go home, home to Bari, curl up in his mother’s arms and let her help figure out this mess. But he couldn’t. A walk on an empty beach was a good second option, but also not really possible, stuck in the city as he was. What he had to do, was push this to the side of this mind, because it was time to leave for the recording session. He was not going to think about it. He could ignore it for a bit.

Or so he told himself. It turned out he couldn’t. He started playing the wrong music, messed up the timing, and this earned him some annoyed or worried looks, depending on how well he knew the person in question. At the end of the session, Marco took him to the side.

“Ermal, are you all right? You don’t seem yourself today,” he said, eyes roaming over Ermal’s face in a search for answers.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Ermal managed to choke out, the lie burning his throat. He wasn’t fine, he really wasn’t.

“You sure?” Marco asked him sceptically, not convinced, “Has it something to do with this mysterious love Dino told me about?”

Ermal hesitated. Should he just tell his friend everything? Would he understand? Ermal doubted it, it was just too complicated, he would have to tell his whole life story to get to the main point now.

“I’m fine, Marco, or I’m sure I will be. Somehow.”

Before he could get any more difficult questions, Ermal turned on his heel and got out of the building.

Even though he tried to distract himself that evening, and the coming days, he couldn’t escape his thoughts running in circles around one thing only: Bizio was Fabrizio.

This meant that Fabrizio knew Ermal’s deepest secrets, deepest fears.

This meant that Fabrizio knew Ermal’s worst memories – maybe not the details, but throughout the years he had referenced his youth enough to get a complete picture.

This meant that Fabrizio knew exactly how Ermal felt about him. Ermal kept coming back to this. And the weird thing was, it didn’t seem as if this realization had changed anything about his feelings. He still felt the same longing, the same attraction whenever he thought of Fabrizio. But he had to get clear for himself if this would change when he had gotten used to the idea bit more, when it would finally really sink in.

Would it change how he felt? On one hand he felt ready to run and hide, this was too much, too fast. But then… was it fast? It just felt like that because everything had changed at once. But his relationship with Bizio had lasted longer than he ever would have expected, longer than made sense, really, looking back. It had overcome a lot, couldn’t they make it through this too? But then with _more_? He hoped they could.

It depended on how Bizio would react to it all, and Ermal didn’t know how that would go. He had withdrawn himself before, and stopped the letters. What was to say that now he wouldn’t do the same? Stop the letters, stop the meetings, stop the dates, stop everything. And then Ermal would be left alone. He wasn’t sure he could face that, but what was there to do? He had to tell Fabrizio, it wouldn’t be fair to him if he didn’t. He could only hope and pray everything would be all right in the end. That was all.

Said like that, it sounded simple. It wasn’t. He couldn’t focus on anything in the few days that were left until his next meeting with Fabrizio. He knew his friends were worried. He knew his mother was worried – Ermal kept calling her, without saying much at all, because he didn’t know what to say, how to explain, but he needed to hear her voice anyway. His thoughts only kept circling back to the _situation_ , and everything it might mean. He didn’t sleep much, kept up by all the possibilities, all the worries, all the hopes. He knew he was wearing himself out, but there was just nothing else he could do, not until he had seen Fabrizio again.

Finally, it was their next meeting, and for once Ermal was glad that they both had full agendas with many other meetings. They’d only had time to plan a short meeting today, before Fabrizio would go back to Rome for a while. Somehow, Ermal had made it through the meeting without giving anything away, even acting almost normally. He was pretty sure Fabrizio noticed something was off about his behaviour today, but he was completely sure Fabrizio hadn’t figured it out yet, that they’d actually known each other for years.

At the end of the meeting, Ermal made up his mind. He needed to tell Fabrizio. He had a split second to make the decision, was he really going to do this? There would be no way back. But he was sure and he needed Fabrizio to know too. He would tell him.

So Ermal said, "I look forward to our next meeting, Bizio", and felt a sudden surge of nerves course through his veins. He started gathering his stuff, slowly packing his bag, item for item, doing anything to not look at Fabrizio’s face after this.

There was a heartbeat of silence. Two.

"What did you call me?" Fabrizio – Bizio whispered then.

Ermal did not look up, just continued to pack his bag, then just reorganizing things that really did not need reorganizing. He wanted to give the other man some time to process this. There was no way that by now he hadn’t made the connection, but it was a lot to take in. His nerves where slowly turning to ice now.

Finally, Ermal put his bag down and carefully looked up. It didn't seem like Fabrizio had moved a muscle in the past few minutes, and Ermal could almost hear his brain working. He waited nervously, but patiently. After all, it had taken him days to come to terms with this and he'd had the opportunity to look through the letters to confirm his suspicions. 

Fabrizio covered his face with his hands and Ermal looked on a bit worried. Could he reach out and touch Fabrizio, just a comforting touch? Were they close enough for that? Mentally, yes. Emotionally, yes. Physically, not so much. Not yet, at least, or not anymore.

Especially now, he feared that his touch would just be shaken off like you would a fly. Better not risk it, Ermal did not think he would be able to take that.

Should he then not have said anything? But he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know. Still, this had probably been a mistake. Maybe he shouldn’t have said it like this. _Of course_ he shouldn’t have said it like this. He might have let Bizio – Fabrizio? – know in another way. A way that put him less on the spot. Ermal could have _written_ his discovery and allow Bizio the same time to process as he had had, and a chance to do it in private. Why hadn’t he written it? Why had he just blurted it out in a conversation like this? In a work meeting, no less? It must be such a shock. God, he messed this up big time.

"Fabrizio," Ermal began, not daring to use his nickname again, "I'm sorry. I could have been – I should have been more tactful about this. It is a lot to take in, I shouldn't have sprung it on you like this out of the blue. Please, please say something?"

A reply took some time coming, and finally it was with a sigh and a soft voice that Fabrizio answered.

"You’re right, it is a lot. Actually, it’s all a bit too much. Ermal – I'm sorry. I really don't know what to say right now. We'll talk when I'm back from Rome, okay?"

With that, Fabrizio got up, the question wasn't really a question at all.

Ermal just nodded, and let himself be pulled in a hug that seemed just a tiny bit shorter and colder than what he was used to. Given the circumstances he was not surprised. If their roles had been reversed, he was pretty sure he would have made his way out of this place already, most likely without so much as saying goodbye.

“Fabrizio, wait,” Ermal tried, and the other man looked at him. “Can we – would it be okay to meet at my house instead of the studio as we had planned? We probably will have a lot to talk about, and you know my address.”

Fabrizio just nodded in response, and checked one last time if he had all his stuff. Then he walked out of the room, beginning his journey back home.

Home. To Rome. With a shock, Ermal realized exactly what Fabrizio would come home to. Not only his children would be waiting, but also a long-awaited Christmas present. A present which was an album by Fabrizio Moro. Ermal just had gone and given Fabrizio a cd he had recorded himself. That really had to be the shittiest present someone could get… And then, not only the present would be waiting, but also a letter. A letter that would tell Fabrizio that Ermal thought his advances were welcome.  

Would they still be? He had been sure, but that was before this whole mess. He couldn't deny the attraction, the mutual attraction, but would this change things? They knew so much about each other. Every dream, every fear, every worry, every doubt. This might be good in an existing relationship but wouldn't it nip whatever it was between them in the bud, before any more than mutual attraction could grow?

So Fabrizio was Bizio. All this time, Bizio had been Fabrizio Moro. Ermal still could scarcely believe it, even with all the evidence in front of him. For years and years he had been writing to, had been friends with Fabrizio Moro. Fabrizio Moro, the man he'd admired ever since _Pensa_. The man whose musical career he'd followed through time. The man who had written beautiful songs and still had come to him for help. How intimidated Ermal had felt before that first meeting, worrying how he would ever write a song that would fit Fabrizio Moro. Looking back now, he would be the perfect person to write songs for him, knowing him better than almost anyone. Actually, he's probably written dozens of songs describing some part of their relationship, any of which might be perfect for Fabrizio.

Ermal made his way home and collapsed on his sofa. A week and a half to go until he would see Fabrizio again. If he would come. Ermal wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his bedroom with nothing but a guitar and some books, but he did not have this opportunity, unfortunately. He had to go to meetings and finish a promised song. Finish all those projects that were still going from before the break. All those lose end to tie up. He had to go to work, there was no time to stay home and wallow in self-pity.

Bravely, he made it through the first week, but then his nerves caught up with him, as did his worries and his sleepless nights. Pleading that he did not feel well, he finally gave in and stayed in his room with the curtains closed, ignoring his phone, his laptop, and most importantly, his mailbox.

His thoughts had twisted around themselves until they told him nothing else than that he had ruined everything - his friendship with Bizio, his friendship with Fabrizio, or whatever else that might have been, and if he continued hiding in his room like this, possibly his career as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.   
> Please let me know what you think of this (and what you think Fabri is going through).


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the day is here, and we will know how Fabrizio will react. Is everything lost as Ermal seems to think, or is there still hope?

This was the day. Today he would know what Bizio was thinking. Their meeting had originally been planned to try to do some writing together, but now Ermal wasn’t sure what the day would bring. At least no writing, he knew that much. Either Bizio showed up and they’d have a lot to talk about, or Bizio didn’t show up at all and he would have his answer too.

Ermal kept staring at the clock, willing the hands to move faster than they did. Bizio’s flight would land at ten past two, it would take him forty minutes to get to the city, so in about two and a half hours he might expect his doorbell ringing. Ermal told himself to do something, anything, not just sit here wallowing in doubts and hopes and a whole mix of confusing emotions.

Twenty minutes passed.

Thirty-five.

An hour.

Another twenty minutes.

Finally, the time was so that he expected hear the doorbell any second now. Minutes passed, agonisingly slowly. No doorbell. Well, maybe traffic was busy, he would give it another fifteen minutes.

Fifteen minutes passed.

Another ten.

No Bizio.

That’s when Ermal’s hopes flittered out completely. The past week had already consisted of moments of doubt, all-crushing doubt. He was sure that this was too much for Bizio, he would not hear from him again now. Still, some hope had lingered, that maybe he would have been able to collect his thoughts and figure out where to go from here. Or at least wanted to meet Ermal to talk about this. They should talk about this, shouldn’t they? Apparently not. He was sure, now he would never hear from Bizio ever again. Somehow his whole life had revolved around patiently waiting for the other man, waiting to send him letters, waiting to meet him, and finally, finally, waiting for Bizio to come back to him. But he hadn’t. And that said enough.

Ermal thought about how perfect it would have been, they had had this amazingly deep emotional connection, and the attraction had been there from the start when they had met in person. Suddenly, the weight of the could-have-been hit him, and he couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks. It would have been perfect, they would have been perfect. He could have been happy with Bizio, he was sure he could. Even without any kind of romantic relationship, if he had only had the letters still. If he could still have Bizio in _some_ way, any way at all, he could make it work. But now he would be left with nothing, no letters, no friendship, but also nothing else. He might turn to Fabrizio Moro’s music, but really, what good would that be now that he had experienced the real person? How would he go on alone, without Bizio to talk to?

He didn’t know how much time passed, only that he couldn’t stop the tears from coming. He wasn’t really crying, there were no ugly sobs, no clogged nose, no struggling to breathe. Somehow this came from somewhere deeper, and it were only tears. Tears with no sign of stopping any time soon.

Tears and thoughts, thoughts spinning in an excruciating circle over the things that had happened, things that would not happen, things he might have handled in a different way – would the outcome then have been different? In the most unhelpful way, his mind came up with even more implications of Bizio being Fabrizio Moro that he had not even thought of before. Would there be songs about him? Inspired by their relationship through letters, or inspired by things that Ermal had told Bizio?  

Suddenly, he was roused from his thoughts by a noise. A piercing noise coming from the hallway. At first he ignored it, but it sounded again. And again. Ermal couldn’t even think of what this might mean, he just wanted the noise to stop so that he could go back to his tears and thoughts. Lock himself in his bedroom with the curtains drawn and just a guitar for company. He wasn’t coming out for the first week at least. But first, that noise had to _stop_.

He made his way to the hallway, slightly stumbling as his vision was still blurred by those damned tears. How many tears could a grown man cry?

He opened the door, the sun blinding his eyes.

“Hi Ermal – what’s wrong?”

His mind couldn’t catch up with this. Surely, he was only imagining that Fabrizio had come after all? That he was standing on his doorstep right now? Ermal just stood there, staring, still with those stupid tears rolling down his cheeks.

Fabrizio waited, worried, _so worried_ , until he realized that he would get no help from Ermal whatsoever. Gently taking Ermal by the shoulder, he led them to the kitchen, where he put him on a chair and then rummaged through the cabinets, looking for a glass. He found one, filled it with water and put it in front of Ermal. Then he took a seat opposite him.

“Come, Ermal, drink something, it will help.”

Ermal did, followed the order without thinking. He finished the glass, and Fabrizio filled it again. It did help. Slowly, Ermal felt the tears stop, and slowly he could think again.

“What’s wrong, Ermal? You worry me.”

“You… You didn’t come.”

“But I’m here? Ermal, I’m here, of course I came.”

“I waited, hoping all was not lost but then you didn’t come.”

“Ermal? I’m here. My flight was delayed. Come on, drink a bit more, let’s give you a bit more time to get your mind to the present.”

Ermal sipped his water as Fabrizio watched, patiently waiting. He had no idea what was going on, what Ermal was _thinking_ , but it was clear that he needed a moment. He had not known what this day would bring, but finding Ermal like this had definitely not crossed his mind. He knew that he had left things really abruptly, too abruptly, last week, but at the moment he couldn’t handle it all. He had needed time to process this. Ermal the songwriter – Ermal the very handsome songwriter who was flirting with him – was Ermal he had been writing to for years. Ermal from the letters, who had talked about meeting this man who changed the whole idea of who he was, was Ermal the songwriter, and that man was Fabrizio. He could not believe it.

At home, he had found a letter, which he left unread for the moment. First, he reread all the letters he had ever gotten from Ermal, trying to map that information on the man he had met in Milan. And yes, it added up. He couldn’t believe it, but the evidence was right there. He blushed when reading that letter where Ermal described the man that had made him doubt his sexuality. That had been him, Fabrizio, that Ermal was describing.

Then he had opened that latest letter. How different it was to read it, knowing that this man Ermal was describing – a man that according to Ermal might be interested in him too, and how happy that made him – was himself. And yes, he was interested in Ermal, how could he not be when he looked like _that_ , talked like _that_ , and thought like _that_? From the first meeting, they’d had an immediate connection, that he’d seldom experienced before. Maybe because there had been some familiarity in the way they talked? How they needed only few words to understand each other, quickly catching up with the other’s line of thoughts.

At home he also found the Christmas present. That damned Christmas present. Ermal had gotten him his own album. It would have been a funny joke if everything hadn’t been such a mess already. Still, part of him was flattered that Ermal liked his music enough to share it with a person so close to him, it meant a lot, knowing as he did how they had bonded over music. (And he had to admit, Ermal wasn’t wrong in saying that he thought Fabrizio would like the music. Of course he did, it was his own.)

But after reading all the letters, he had to think about what it all _meant_. This meant that Ermal knew almost all his secrets, his past, his private thoughts. Could he live with that? Could he _love_ with that? Usually he would try to protect his partner, or protect himself, and not share everything. He was a very private person at heart, but now everything was out in the open. Did that change anything?

What if things didn’t work out? He would then not only lose that chance with songwriter-Ermal, but he would also lose the letters. But then, no matter what, things had already changed between them now. The letters would not be the same. Gone was the magic of being anonymous, gone was the magic of never having met, of not knowing what the other looked like, of not even knowing the other’s last name. They could never go back to the simple relationship of the letters now. It would be awkward, they would think twice of sharing their deepest thoughts, fears, hopes, dreams, doubts.

So if he had lost the letters already, might he not at least try to make it work? If Ermal wanted that too, of course, if he wanted that still, after this discovery. Yes, his last letter had been hopeful and confident, but that was undoubtedly written before he had made the connection.

It had been a slow week in Rome, he had tried to focus on his children, on his family, on his friends, on his music. On anything, really, that could take his mind away from Ermal, any form of Ermal he knew. It didn’t really work. Not at all, if he was honest. But he had made his decision, that was all he could do now. He could think things over, but he doubted it would change his decision. He was going to go to Ermal, and talk about this, and then he would propose to try and make it work. Hadn’t that been his advice from the start? Try to make it work and see where it ended? It was all they could do, the only thing they could do. He just hoped it would be enough and he hoped, more than anything else, Ermal thought the same. And now here he was, sitting in Ermal’s kitchen, and nothing had gone as expected.

After a long while, Ermal came back to himself. The tears were finally dried up and he could think again. He went up to the sink and splashed some water in his face and dried it. Then he turned around, not ready at all to face Bizio – who was really here, who was still here, even after this scene – not ready at all, but he couldn’t postpone this any longer. And he needed answers.

“Bizio?” he said softly, but it still felt loud in the quiet of the kitchen.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I don’t know – I think so.”

“I think so too, and I’m glad. Ermal, what was this all about?”

Ermal sat back down at the table, giving himself some extra seconds to gather his thoughts.

“You were late, I had given up hope that you would come at all. I thought I had lost you again, but lost everything this time.”

“My flight was delayed. I texted you that. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer your phone.”

“My phone,” Ermal echoed stupidly. Of course, Fabrizio had his number. Fabrizio was Bizio. And yet, he had not even thought of checking it. In his mind, Bizio was only associated with communication via letters. And you wouldn’t send a letter to say your flight was delayed. He hadn’t even thought about his phone.

“But Ermal, your reaction when you thought I wasn’t coming… I promised you I would, didn’t I?”

Ermal just hid his face in his hands. He really did not want to think about what Bizio had seen when he had opened that door. Ermal could hardly remember what had happened, but it couldn’t have been a pretty sight. Yet, still here Fabrizio was. With him.

“I’m sorry I left so abruptly last week. I shouldn’t have gone like that, I know that,” Fabrizio started to say, but Ermal interrupted him.

“No, no, no, listen, you shouldn’t apologize, I really shouldn’t have told you like that. It was my fault, really. There were so many ways to let you know and I chose the single one that was the worst thing to do. Your reaction was only natural.”

They were both quiet for a bit, tension and insecurity growing, becoming more tangible with the second. They had planned to talk, but now they were here, neither of them knew what to say, where to take this.  

The silence was suddenly broken by Fabrizio’s phone. He checked the caller ID and looked apologetically up at Ermal.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this, it’s Libero. He knows not to call while I’m away unless it’s important.”

Ermal nodded as Fabrizio made his way to the hallway, and used this time to gather his thoughts. They should talk. He should speak. But what to say?

Fabrizio re-entered the room and again took his seat at the table, with a big smile on his face.

“He made the team!”

Ermal blanked for a bit, and then remembered that Bizio had mentioned his son going on football try-outs. Ermal still had trouble integrating these two sets of information, the things Bizio had written him, and the things Fabrizio had told him. But Bizio _was_ Fabrizio, they were talking about the same children. That was almost how he found out this whole thing in the first place.

Before he could answer, Fabrizio continued.

“So,” he said, “We should talk. But I guess, we already know how we feel about each other, don’t we?”

Ermal felt his cheeks heat up.

“You definitely know more than you probably needed to,” he mumbled.

Wait, each other? Bizio had been writing about meeting someone too, hadn’t he? Was Fabrizio now saying that was him? That perfect person, looking like an angel? That was him? Ermal felt so stupid for not realizing this possibility sooner. He had gone over the letters so many times and it hadn’t even crossed his mind. But yes, Fabrizio had seemed interested, and Bizio told him he was. So, everything Bizio had written was about him? He looked up at Fabrizio now, allowing to feel the hope bloom in his chest.

“I feel flattered that you had to rethink your sexuality because of me,” Fabrizio started.

“But?” Ermal asked a bit scared. Maybe that hope had been a mistake. If this wasn’t a way to start a rejection he didn’t know what could be.

“There is no ‘but’. I just can’t believe I was the one to told you to go for it and try flirting with me. Can you imagine that coincidence?”

Ermal didn’t reply, right now unable to see the humour in the situation, and also still waiting for that ‘but’ anyway. _Flattered, but a bit weirded out. Flattered, but not signing up for this. Flattered, but too complicated. Flattered, but not what he expected. Flattered, but changing his mind. Flattered, but leaving now._

Fabrizio noticed. Of course he did.

“Listen, Ermal, I can see you’re worrying, but don’t. I meant everything I said in my letters. I meant everything I told you just now. I’m interested in you, you should know that. This didn’t change the way I feel, truly, it didn’t. It changes the situation, yes, but nothing else. I think we can make this work. I think we should at least try. It’s like destiny bringing us together again, right?”

“I don’t believe in destiny,” Ermal replied, without thinking about it, only trying to give himself some time to process what was happening. Fabrizio still wanted to make this work? He really wanted this, them, together? His feelings hadn’t changed?

He lifted his head when he noticed the silence turning heavy and awkward. He looked up at Fabrizio’s face. His crumpled face, it even looked as if he was trying not to cry. Ermal’s heart clenched as he realized how his words had been interpreted. What an idiot he was, even messing up this, when everything he wanted (needed?) was so, so close.

“Wait, no, Fabrizio, I didn’t mean it like that, I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry I’m being so stupid.”

Ermal reached across the table and took Fabrizio’s hands, silently praying he wouldn’t move them out of the way. He didn’t. At least there was that.

“I want to make this work too, I do, I really do. I don’t want to lose you, I _can’t_ lose you. You saw me before, when you arrived. How can you believe that I don’t want to try? I cannot bear the thought of losing you, every you, the one I met just a few months ago, or the one I’ve known since we were teenagers.”

At the end of that speech, Ermal couldn’t do anything else than look at Fabrizio and hope and pray he understood. Understood how much Ermal was feeling, how much this meant to him. He waited for a reaction, and finally it came, but it left him feeling confused and cold.

Fabrizio didn’t say anything, and the expression on his face was impossible to read. Ermal’s heart sank when he felt Fabrizio carefully entangling their hands and get up. Was this it then? The end?

Ermal was ready to sink back in that despair of earlier. In a way, it was a comfortable place to be, at least his thoughts didn’t bother him as much. But before that happened, he realized that Fabrizio has made his way around the table, was now standing in front of him, softly pulling him up by his arms.

Ermal could only let himself be led into a hug, a hug like he’d never had experienced before, not once, not even with all the amazing hugs they had shared already. It was warm, it was comforting, he felt protected, he felt _loved_ , and it was everything he needed. He buried his face in Fabrizio’s neck and let himself relax, let himself believe that it would be okay, that they would be okay.

Only then he became aware of a steady whisper in his ear. “You’re safe, I’ve got you, it will be okay, we can make this work, I know we can, I love you, I’m never going to let you go again.”

Ermal wasn’t sure if Fabrizio knew what he was telling him, and he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hear it at all. But he did, and a warm feeling settled in his chest. A certainty settled in his chest. They _would_ make this work. They _could_ make this work. He had no idea how long they stayed in that hug, he only knew that he could stay there, wrapped up in warm arms, for the rest of his life and be happy.

Finally, they slowly broke apart and looked at each other with mirroring, stupid smiles. The relief was plain to see on both their faces, but then Fabrizio’s expression changed to something else. Worry.

“Ermal, you don’t look so good. Did you eat properly? Have you slept at all?”

Ermal couldn’t give any satisfying answer, because really, he hadn’t. So Fabrizio once more went through the kitchen cabinets and the fridge, and managed to cook up something resembling a decent meal from the things he found. He put a plate in front of Ermal, and watched as he ate it, only occasionally taking a bit from his own plate. After that, he quickly did the dishes, not allowing Ermal to help, while he told random stories about his children to fill the silence.

When everything was clean, dried, and put away, Fabrizio turned back to Ermal.

“Come on, I know it’s early, but I think it’s a good idea if you go to sleep early today. It’s been an emotional one, and not to be rude, but it looks like you need it.”

Ermal could only nod, he didn’t have any arguments against it. If he was honest, he felt awful, despite the happy outcome of the day.

“Fabrizio? How long will you be in Milan? Can I see you again?”

Fabrizio chuckled in response, “Of course you can, Ermal, please believe me, I won’t run off like that again. What if we meet tomorrow for dinner? Then you can sleep in and just have a quiet day at home, and we’ll see each other after that. Yes?”

“Yes,” Ermal replied, sinking back into a hug, before they pulled apart and he felt Fabrizio’s lips briefly touch his forehead.

“Go to sleep, Ermal,” Fabrizio said softly, and pushed him towards his bedroom, “I’ll see myself out, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Ermal, for once, did has he was told, and that night slept better than he had done in weeks.

The next day, he slept late like he hadn’t in years probably, and then slowly got ready for meeting Fabrizio. This time, there were no nerves at all, no need to make a good impression. Now, at least, he was secure in Fabrizio’s feelings and it would be fine. They would be fine. They just had to figure out how to make it work, but he felt confident they could.

Again, Fabrizio was already waiting at the restaurant when Ermal arrived. His face lit up in a smile when he saw Ermal and when they were close enough, Fabrizio pulled Ermal into a hug and kissed his cheek. It made Ermal smile, this was definitely something he could get used to.

“Did you sleep well? You look a lot better. In fact, you look really good!” Fabrizio said, while looking Ermal up and down.

“You do too,” Ermal answered, meaning it. Fabrizio was once more wearing a black leather jacket and it just made him look so handsome, in a dark way, and Ermal loved how it contrasted with the sweetest and kindest personality he had ever met.

They sat down at a table, decided again to share a starter, that might become a tradition of theirs, Ermal realized, and moved on to the main course. At first they had stayed on lighter topics, but now they felt it was time to address the elephant in the room. They had to, at some point.

“You’re still worried?” Fabrizio asked Ermal softly.

“Aren’t you?” Ermal asked in return, he might be confident, but his mind had no problem coming up with at least a dozen of possible issues and ways in which this all could turn sour in an instant.

“Listen, we both said we want to make this work. That’s all we can do, we can do our very best that this will work. Everything else we can’t control, and we just have to see what will happen and react to it when it does. But Ermal, you were such a big support to me throughout the years, and I hope I was at least a little the same for you. When we met, I felt we had this instant connection, didn’t you too? To me, those things sound like a solid basis to build a relationship on, no?”

“Yes, I suppose so. As you say, we can take it step by step. And at least we’ll have each other.”

They ate in silence for a bit, and then Ermal gathered enough courage to ask Fabrizio, “What did you think when I called you Bizio the other week?”

“At first I couldn’t comprehend it, I thought I had just misheard it, but I knew I didn’t. It was so confusing, no one, absolutely no one calls me that, except for that guy I’ve been writing letters to, you know. I think that’s what made it extra strange, I had never heard it spoken aloud before, only seen it written. But I couldn’t – I just couldn’t think properly. Probably my mind made the connection already, you calling me that, you with the same name as my pen friend, but I just couldn’t accept it. Not then, not really. So that’s why I left so quickly, I needed time alone to think about it.”

“Oh yes, I understand that. Completely.”

“When I got to Rome, I first ignored your latest letter, I started with rereading the old ones, and as I did I felt the puzzle pieces click into place. It made sense, in a strange way. But I’m still wondering, how did you find out?”

“You know, in your letter after Christmas, you told me about the presents you got?”

Immediately, Ermal saw realization dawn in Fabrizio’s eyes.

“And I showed them to you at dinner.”

“Yes, exactly. And it just felt familiar, but I couldn’t place it, not that evening at least. I know I became distant, I’m glad you didn’t hold that against me at all. There was just this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that something was going on. And the next morning I realized what it was. I then spent the days before our next meeting just going over everything in my head, time and time again. I was overthinking everything so much, but at least one of the first things I was certain about was that I needed to tell you, if you didn’t know yet. I just should have done it in a better way.”

“No, don’t worry about it, I’m happy you at least told me as soon as you did, I don’t want to think of how it would have been if you knew and I was still clueless… But of course, you wouldn’t do that to me. Also, Ermal, speaking of Chrismats presents, I never thanked you for the one you gave me!” Fabrizio said, taking another bite of his risotto.

Ermal only looked at Fabrizio with a dark expression.

“Please don't remind me.”

“No, no, I'm not making fun of you, it's surprisingly nice to receive your own cd because someone thinks you'll like it. Because they liked it. And you just didn't know.”

Ermal smiled a grin, “True, I didn't. And this is a good time to remind you that you have recommended so many songs to me that I've written myself. Thanks for that, too.”

Fabrizio just laughed, “I guess we’re even. Nice to know we’ve been each other’s biggest fans for years now!”

Conversation slipped into easier topics again, and slowly the mood changed. Ermal could feel the attraction trickle back in. It was present when their legs brushed, when they touched hands, when their gazes met. Ermal had never thought he would have all this. He was comfortable, so at ease. He dared to be honest when talking to Fabrizio. Now that the realization had set in and they knew where they stood – and they knew who they were, it had become as comfortable as before. No, it was more than that even. There was this feeling he had only ever gotten in the letters to Bizio. That same feeling of being safe, of being understood, of being able to say anything. It was a miracle really, he had never thought it would happen, that they could find that feeling in real life too. This coupled with the attraction that had started fizzling through the air again, was a heady mix, and he couldn’t get enough of it. It was dangerous, really, an addiction waiting to happen, but he couldn’t care less about it.

Another shared dessert later, they had made their way to the dark street.

“Shall we go for a walk?” Ermal suggested, not wanting to say goodbye and end this day yet.

As an answer, Fabrizio reached out and interlaced their fingers, making Ermal smile. He slowly led the way through the empty streets of Milan to a park he knew. He often walked through it during the day, and had always wondered how it would look at night. The answer was beautiful.

Hand in hand, they made their way along the curving path through the trees. They reached an open area with a fountain and some benches. Spotlights lit up the fountain and the light glittered magically on the water. Above them, in the dark cold sky stars were visible.

“Isn't it amazing?” Ermal breathed, looking up at the sky, but then turning to face Fabrizio.

“Yes,” the other man replied, but he wasn't looking at the sky or the scenery at all. He was looking at Ermal. He was looking at him very intently and Ermal felt a blush creep up his cheeks. He stared back, not moving a muscle, captured in the moment, captured in that electricity that had danced between them for half the evening.

They couldn't tell who leaned in first, but that didn't change the outcome. Lips were touching in a searing kiss. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness, it just felt right. This is what both of them had been waiting for, for so long. Ermal melted into Fabrizio’s arms and the kiss deepened. It stopped all thoughts in his head, except for a running stream of ‘Bizio, Bizio, Bizio, _Bizio_ ” and he was lost to the sensation of Fabrizio’s arms holding him close, hands moving across his back, one settling on his neck, Fabrizio’s lips on his, his tongue.

Ermal had dreamt about this kiss, he had, hell, even Fabrizio knew he had. But nothing he could have imagined was as good as the real thing. Finally, their lips broke apart, the need for oxygen becoming stronger than their desire never to let each other go again, but their bodies stayed touching for a moment longer. Eventually they made their way to one of the benches and sank down on it, going in for a second kiss, a third, ending in just caressing each other’s faces, running a hand through curls, and tracing visible tattoos. They needed this contact, they really did, it had been building up for weeks, and finally they could give in to it, without any boundaries between them.

However, despite the magic of the moment, the enchanting evening, Ermal couldn’t help but think ahead. He always did, he couldn’t change it, even if it would ruin the moment. He needed answers and more certainty.

“Bizio? Where do we go from here?”

“Anything you want, Ermal.”

Ermal sighed, resting his head on Fabrizio’s shoulder.

“The problem is that I do not know what I want. Not exactly. I just don’t know. I have never done… this,” he mumbled, a bit embarrassed, he felt so indecisive, insecure. At least he didn’t have to explain what ‘this’ was, he knew Fabrizio would know exactly what he meant.

“Don’t worry about it, we have time to figure it out. We’ll take it slow, Ermal, if that is what you need. We’ve spent so much of our life waiting on each other in one way of another, we can wait a bit more. Really. I’ll be in Milan for a few more days, and after that we will find a way to make it work. Besides, you won’t be rid of me that easily, we still have some songs to finish together!”

Ermal smiled, “Thank you, Bizio, I’d like to take it slow. It’s just, so much? It’s overwhelming. You are overwhelming. But you make me so happy, please know that.”

“Oh, I do,” Fabrizio said, “You me too.”

They stayed there, on that bench, for hours, keeping each other warm in the cold night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like how they resolved this situation!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ermal has taken a holiday. A proper one. One week in Bari, because he has some news to share, and then one week in Rome with a certain boyfriend of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for everyone I promised fluff. I really should know better than writing Ermal's inner monologue on a train because it always turns into an angsty mess. I won't *promise* anything but I think next chapter will be more fluffy. At least the ending of this chapter is good. I hope you'll still like it anyway!

_Bari, 13-04-2019_

_My dearest Bizio,_

_I know I will see you in a few days after you get this letter, but I wanted to write you anyway and let you know what I’ve been up to. Even though you know that, because we also talked on the phone. Anyway. A letter. Old time’s sake._

_So I decided to take a break. A real proper break. I rescheduled some meetings, cancelled others and am now taking a holiday. Two weeks. As you know, I’ll be spending the first in Bari, and then visit you in Rome. I can’t believe how much I’m missing you, even though I should be used to not seeing you a lot._

_Before I left, I decided it was time to let my friends know about you. I didn’t go over the whole letter thing, I didn’t think that would be relevant and it would just make it that much weirder. As it was, they had a harder time believing my boyfriend is the famous Fabrizio Moro than the fact that I’m dating a man. I can’t really blame them for that, because if you would have told me this even a year ago, I would just have laughed at you. But I wanted to let you know, I chose my friends well and am not losing any over this. Mostly, they are just happy for me (well, us), and glad that I finally told them what was going on, because they were getting worried._

_And you know why I went to Bari first. I mean, yes, to see my family, but I also wanted to tell them about us. In person. They deserve that, especially my mother. I don’t think I’ve told you with so many words, but I was a bit scared about it. Not that I expected them to react badly, I just wasn’t exactly sure how they would take it. Only now I can really understand the struggle you had, all those year ago, with debating whether to tell your dad about your sexuality._

_Anyway, I told them yesterday, my mother and siblings, over dinner. I don’t think I went about it the best way I could have, because I should have realized starting with “I have something to tell you and please let me finish before you react” might have caused some unnecessary worries. But then, it turns out I’m not really good at sharing serious, important things, because I messed it up with you too. I told them the same as I told my friends, that I had met you in writing sessions and we just clicked. Accepting you’re famous is already a big thing, I think (is this the right place to mention that Rinald would love to get an autograph? Some of my friends would love that too, even though they didn’t go so far as to ask for it. Rinald did. He’s shameless). When I told them, I noticed they had to do a double take because you’re… well because you’re not a woman. But I don’t hold it against them, because so had I. When they got over the shock, though, they were really happy for us, and asked immediately when they can meet you._

_Then later, when my brother and sister had gone back to their own homes, I was watching television with my mother. It resembled so much the evenings we used to have when I was younger, when I came home from work, and it was so nice. But that’s when I told her about you being Bizio, about the letters. It took so long for her to believe it, and I can see why. She asked so many questions, and how we found out and everything. And of course, being a mother, she told me “You two should have listened to me when I told you it would be nice to meet up. You would have met and discovered your feelings a lot sooner!” She’s not wrong, I guess, but I don’t regret anything we did or did not do. I think we met at the right time in our lives, don’t you? I want to warn you, though, when you meet her she might bring up that ten year’s silence, because I think she’s still not quite over how upset you made me. I am though, so I’ll defend you!_

_Today I also called my grandmother to tell her. I think that’s what I was most worried about, she’s so used to the Albanian way of thinking, and I was a bit afraid how it would go. And I could only call, so I couldn’t read her body language or see if she actually understood me. Also, I had to tell her in Albanian, which was surprisingly complicated. But she really surprised me, she didn’t bat an eye, just started asking so many questions about you, just nice questions, how we had met, what you looked like, what food you like… Also, I think your album sales will increase in Albania, because knowing my grandmother and after hearing her reaction, I know she’ll move heaven and Earth if she has to, to get her hands on something her grandson’s boyfriend made._

_I’ll post this letter today, and then I have two more days in Bari, before I travel to Rome. I can’t wait to see you again! But Bizio, I know I can tell you, I know you’d want me to tell you. I’m a bit scared too. We’ve only ever seen her for only hours at a time. This will be a whole week. What if it doesn’t work? What if we annoy each other or we can’t agree on things or we start fighting? And then, I know I have mentioned this before, when everything was still so hypothetical, but what if Libero and Anita don’t like me? I can’t force you to choose between us, I won’t allow that, and you have to be there for them, not me. They are so much more important._

_I’m sure I’m worrying about nothing. Most likely, everything will go well. But I do worry. A bit. And these letters to you have always been my way of getting everything out of my head and dealing with it. I hope – no, I know – you don’t mind that. But it feels so much more vulnerable, I feel more vulnerable, doing it now, knowing who you are, who you are to me. Knowing I will see you in a few days. Still, even despite everything, it helps._

_And I will see you in a few days! Each time I remember that, I am smiling like an idiot. I’m looking forward to seeing you again so, so much. So you’ll have this letter as a little taste of the real me, who is soon to follow._

_\- Ermal_

 

Ermal’s train arrived in Rome quite early in the afternoon. The past few days in Bari he’s spent with family, with friends, but mostly, at the beach. Even though the weather was a bit grey, he couldn’t get enough of the sand, the water, the sky. He needed to get his fill of the seaside while he could. Now though, it was time to move on to the crowdedness of the capital.

Now, it was time to move on to Fabrizio. Ermal felt butterflies in his stomach just at the thought. Like he’d written, he had never thought he would miss Fabrizio this much, this quickly. He made his way along the platform to the station’s main hall, where Fabrizio would be waiting. He was. Right there. Their eyes locked and Ermal sighed, this felt awfully like coming home, and that was a bit unexpected, really. His home was Bari, or Milan, not Rome. _Not_ Rome _, you idiot, the person who is in Rome right now_ , his mind told him, before every thought was silenced by Fabrizio’s arms around him and his lips on his cheek.

“Welcome to Rome. I’ve missed you,’ Fabrizio whispered in his ear, just before they broke apart.

“And I you,” Ermal answered, a bit breathless. He swallowed heavily, and continued, “Are Libero and Anita here too?”

“No, they’re at Giada’s for a few more days, I didn’t want to scare you away. But they’ll be brought over the day after tomorrow, so you can meet them then.”

Fabrizio started leading the way to where he had parked his car.

“Be brought over? Don’t you usually pick them up?” Ermal asked, quite certain he had that detail right at least.

“I do, but… Well, I might have mentioned you coming over, and Giada is quite excited to meet you.”

Ermal gulped. Meeting his boyfriend’s ex? He was sure Giada was nice, but really, did he have to? Fabrizio noticed, and patted his hand comfortingly.

“Don’t worry, she won’t bite. She told me, and these are her exact words, ‘I want to meet this man who has you blushing like a teenager when you talk about him’. Really, I’ll be happy to get this over with, maybe she’ll stop teasing me.”

Ermal wasn’t sure this took his doubts away completely. It rather sounded as if Fabrizio had been way too positive about him and now he would just be a disappointment. But, he guessed, he would want to meet this new guy hanging around his children too, if he had any. He just had to trust Fabrizio, and believe everything would go well. Of course it would. He trusted that someone Fabrizio had dated for so long would at least be a kind person.

On the car ride to Fabrizio’s house, they were just making small talk, Fabrizio pointing out some landmarks, Ermal telling about his week in Bari. Quickly, they arrived at Fabrizio’s home.

“I’ve just moved house, as you know, so it’s not really… all that organized yet. I’m sorry,” Fabrizio told Ermal as he gave him a quick tour through the house.

“That’s okay, I understand!” Ermal said, occupied by trying to remember which room was which and which door led where.

Finally, they settled at the kitchen table, each with a cup of coffee in front of them.

“So. I’m glad you’re here,” Fabrizio told Ermal, looking up at him with a smile, a smile that lit up his face beautifully.

“Thanks for having me,” Ermal said, because he didn’t really know what else to say. And his mother had taught him to be polite if nothing else.

“Ermal, please, you’re my boyfriend. Of course you’re welcome, don’t do this,” Fabrizio sighed, but he was still smiling. “Is there anything you want to do this week? See? Visit?”

“I’m happy if I can just see you. I don’t see any need in being dragged off into a fully packed tour of Rome. Though, if there’s anything you want to show me, I’d be happy to go!”

“You’re really unhelpful right now, did you know that?” Fabrizio joked.

“I’m sorry,” Ermal sighed. The truth was, he was happy to be here, and to see Fabrizio again. But he just didn’t know how to behave exactly. What would be acceptable? What wouldn’t? Could he just _do_ things as if he lived here? Should he ask for everything like he was just a guest? He knew he was Fabrizio’s boyfriend and that gave him certain allowances in the house, but it was also the first time at his house, the first time staying over – oh God, the first time staying over – Ermal firmly pushed down this line of thought, focusing on the present. He just felt a bit awkward, out of place. Even though Fabrizio felt safe and familiar, the rest of everything did not, and it was disorientating. A bit uneasy. He needed to find that naturalness of being with Fabrizio. He knew he could.

He took a deep breath and tried again. “There’s nothing I really want to see, but if you know something special, I’d love to go. But I’m thinking, maybe we could do something fun when Libero and Anita are here? I’m sure they’d be bored if we stay in all weekend.”

Fabrizio’s eyes lit up when Ermal mentioned the children.

“Would you want that? I don’t want to push them on you, they can be quite a handful.”

“I’d love to! We could go to the zoo, maybe, if the weather is good?”

“That’s a perfect idea, Anita has been asking to go for ages.”

After their coffee, Fabrizio said they still needed to get groceries, so it might be a good idea to do that first.

“I didn’t know what you would like to eat, so I didn’t want to go before, I hope that’s okay.”

Ermal could hardly object to that, Fabrizio being sweet enough to keep his wishes in mind, and they went to the local supermarket. During shopping, Ermal got a bit intimidated by Fabrizio’s big plans for dinner, and he tried to carefully tell him that he shouldn’t be responsible for too much cooking – really, Fabrizio should know that, he had written to Bizio often enough about his adventures in the kitchen. Fabrizio just laughed, and answered he would be able to prevent the kitchen from burning down.

“Really, if I can bake a cake that’s surprisingly edible with Anita and Libero’s help, I can manage dinner with you!”

Ermal tried to look insulted, but knew he was, in fact, probably worse than the two children.

Back at home, they were surprised to find more time had passed than either of them had realized and they quickly started on dinner. Fabrizio told Ermal to dice some vegetables or occasionally stir the food, but mostly kept him away from the stove and let him set the table instead. Ermal didn’t mind, he was glad there was no way to ruin their first homecooked meal together. As he spent more time in the house and around Fabrizio, he felt more at ease, even humming along to the radio. Everything would be fine, he was settled a bit now, and now he could focus on Fabrizio, without getting his unnecessary thoughts in the way.

Dinner was delicious, and time passed quickly, the two of them finally finding back some of that ease they were used to. After dinner, they did the dishes together and then made their way to the living room. Fabrizio turned on the television, but wasn’t really watching it. Instead, he was watching Ermal with soft eyes, who had curled up on the sofa next to him.

“Is everything alright, Ermal?” Fabrizio asked softly, and Ermal nodded in response, shifting a bit so he could lean against the other man.

“Yes. It’s just a bit strange to be here, you know? I’m not yet quite sure where I fit in.”

“You fit in right here,” Fabrizio told him, wrapping his arms around Ermal and leaning their heads together. “If there’s anything, you can tell me, you know that right?”

“I do.”

“I know you do, but I still wanted to tell you again.”

Ermal didn’t reply to this, and just let himself relax in the embrace, tracing Fabrizio’s tattoos on the arm close to his face. Finally he could inspect those from up close, he had wanted to do that for a while.

After his ninth yawn of the evening, Fabrizio looked up apologetically.

“I think it’s time to go to bed… I don’t know why I am this tired, I’m used to staying up later. Oh, damn, I had meant to ask you this before, but do you want to share my bed? If not, I can quickly get the guest bed ready, I think I remember where the bed linens are.”

“No, no, sharing is fine!” Ermal replied quickly, “Sleep if you need to, we’ll have more days together. Is it okay if I take a shower though, tonight?”

“Sure, do you want to go first?”

“No, you should sleep, I’m not that tired yet. Besides, I need to dry my hair, because otherwise it’s a complete nightmare tomorrow. You don’t have to wait for that!”

Fabrizio agreed to go first and got himself ready for bed and appeared a bit later in the doorway wearing just his underwear and an old shirt. Ermal tried not to stare too much, while his mind almost short-circuited.

“I’m done, so you can shower now. If there’s anything you need or can’t find, let me know, okay?”

Ermal nodded, not trusting himself to speak and then made his way to the bathroom, after rummaging through is bag to find his diffuser and toiletries.

He had hoped the shower would relax him. A nice, warm shower, with his own familiar shampoo and soap to feel a bit more like home, that could only be helpful, right? It wasn’t. Because he couldn’t help back going over the afternoon, cursing himself, his awkwardness. This was all he wanted, and all he did was see problems everywhere. It wasn’t like it was before, and he was afraid it was all his fault, because Fabrizio seemed his usual kind, warm, secure self.

But that was not only it, he knew, however awkward he had felt before, it was worse now. Because now, he realized, there was more to worry about. Bigger things to worry about. Because when he stepped out of this bathroom, Fabrizio would be there, waiting for him, lying in a double bed. The idea in itself was wonderful, something he had been thinking about for weeks, really. But now that it was here, now that it was reality, it scared him. It scared him a lot. What would Fabrizio expect? Would he want to take their relationship further? Of course he would want to, right?

Ermal was pretty certain about one thing in this whole mess: He didn’t think he was ready to do anything like that. Not yet.

But he didn’t want to disappoint Fabrizio. He didn’t want to make such a big thing out of _everything_. Why couldn’t he just find that ease again with which he had flirted with him? Why couldn’t he just be bit more secure of himself, of them, of the whole situation?

Finally, there was no way to postpone this any longer, he knew he was straight up hiding in the bathroom at this point. His hair was as dry as it would ever be, and he had to go out now. Maybe Fabrizio would already be asleep? He hoped so. Ermal knew it was cowardly of him, but he had managed to talk himself in too much of a panic to really care. In any case, he had to get out of the bathroom _now_ and go to the bedroom _now._

Fabrizio turned his head when Ermal walked in. Not asleep then. Well, he tried.

“Did you find everything okay?”

“Yes, I did, don’t worry about it!”

Ermal put his things away and then got under the covers of the bed. And lay there, on his back, waiting.

“Sleep well, Ermal,” Fabrizio’s sleepy voice came from the other side of the bed, and Ermal exhaled softly.

“Sleep well, Bizio,” he replied, and lay there, on his back, on the edge of the bed, waiting to fall asleep, but not really succeeding. He was afraid of moving too much and waking up Fabrizio. He was afraid of accidentally stealing the blanket. He was afraid of many things and annoyed at himself. He had shared beds before, why was he making such an issue out of this?

On and on his thoughts went, in circles, like the hands of the clock on the bedside table. Ermal was sure he saw most hours pass by. Listening to Fabrizio’s peaceful breathing, he almost wanted to cry. Right here, this was everything he wanted, and still he managed to mess it up, what was wrong with him?

Finally, as the dark square of the window slowly changed colour and the birds started singing, Ermal fell asleep, only to be awoken when Fabrizio got up an hour or two later. He opened his eyes, to find Fabrizio looking at him, propped up on his elbow.

“Good morning, Erm. Did you sleep well?” Fabrizio asked, as he reached up to brush some curls from Ermals forehead and to the side. His fingers traced down Ermal’s faced and softly caressed his cheek.

“Good morning to you too. I did,” Ermal replied, even managing a smile. He had to admit, it was nice to wake up like this.

“I’ll go make breakfast, you can stay here a bit more if you want. I’ll call you when it’s ready.” With a soft kiss to his lips, Fabrizio got up and put on some comfortable pants he had lying around. He then made his way to the kitchen.

Ermal could softly hear the clattering of plates and cutlery, and the sound of the coffee machine. He turned over in the bed, breathing in Fabrizio’s scent. It _was_ nice to wake up like this, and in the light of the morning his fears from last night seemed almost unimportant. Almost. Still, today would be a good day, he would make sure of it, he would behave more like himself, the him Fabrizio had met in Milan.

Ermal followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen, when Fabrizio called for him that breakfast was ready. He leaned against the doorpost to observe the scene in front of him. Fabrizio had set the table simply, just some plates and knifes, some bread and some spreads. There was also a cup of coffee for each, and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Ermal smiled when Fabrizio looked up to see him standing there, face lighting up.

“Come, sit down!”

Ermal did and they started their breakfast.

“I had planned to take you to see the city or something, but well…” Fabrizio looked pointedly out of the window, where a gust of rain crashing against the glass explained his words.

“That’s okay, we can just stay in, I don’t mind!”

Staying in is exactly what they did. After breakfast, they went to the living room, lit some candles and partially closed the curtains to keep the gloomy weather out. Then Fabrizio started an episode of some series, and they settled on the couch, Ermal with his head in Fabrizio’s lap, Fabrizio’s hands settling in his hair, softly running through his locks.

At the end of the episode, rather than continuing, Fabrizio paused the player, and looked down at Ermal.

“I know I’m repeating myself, but is everything all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m all right,” Ermal answered quickly, not quite sure he liked where this was going. “I know I was a bit… not myself yesterday, but it was such a change to be with you like this, instead of just a few hours. I’m sorry.” It wasn’t the whole story, but it wasn’t a lie either.

“Listen Ermal, I am not upset, I am just worried. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

“No, I’ll be fine, today is much better already!”

“Did you sleep at all, last night?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Ermal.”

“I… dozed. On and off.”

Fabrizio all the while kept running his fingers through Ermal's hair and over his scalp. Ermal was glad for it, it was calming him, grounding him.

“Can you please tell me what made you all tense like that, Erm? I didn’t want to begin about it last night, thinking sleep would maybe help, but I don’t think it did. Please Ermal, you can tell me anything. Just, talk to me?”

Ermal closed his eyes. Part of him did want to talk to Fabrizio, explain every fear and worry he had. But another part of him didn’t. Then Fabrizio would know exactly how insecure he was. How much everything became a problem in his mind. It might help though, to talk about it. Bizio had always been so good at dispelling his worries, making them disappear as snow in sunshine.

“I told you I was a bit… scared, to come here,” Ermal began softly, focusing on the feeling of Fabrizio’s fingers tracing circles across his scalp. “I thought it would be fine, coming here, seeing you. And it did, when I saw you at the station yesterday, it felt like coming home. I was so relieved. But then we made it here and… I don’t know, all the worries were just back, but worse than before. I felt so out of place, so awkward. And it’s not your fault! You’re perfect, you really are! It’s just… I don’t know.”

He looked up now, meeting Fabrizio’s eyes.

“I don’t know what it is, and I’m sorry, I want nothing more than go back to what we had when we met in Milan, that ease, everything going well, and not… this,” he waved a hand in the air to indicate, well, to indicate everything.

“Shh Ermal, it’s perfectly understandable. In Milan, you were in familiar places, you were in control. Don’t you think that might play a role? Then it was I who came to you for help, in your office, your studio, your city. Later on, it was your house. You had the home field advantage, so to speak. Here, everything is new, that’s overwhelming, I get that. It will get better, when you get used a bit to the place, the house, to me.”

Ermal thought about this for a bit. It made sense, what Fabrizio was saying. What also helped was how he understood, didn’t judge, was so patient, and just accepted him. Of course he did. Ermal had known he would, but he hadn’t been able to picture it to help him calm down.

“I think you’re right. Thank you, Bizio.”

Ermal felt Fabrizio’s lips on his forehead, and then Fabrizio sighed.

“There is something else I wanted to ask. It seemed to me… Did you feel worse, yesterday at night, when we went to bed?”

Ermal was silent, just turning his face to hide it in Fabrizio’s sweater. That was answer enough, apparently, because Fabrizio continued.

“We don’t have to talk about this now in detail, Ermal, but I think it’s important to discuss this a little. Right now, I can only guess what you felt last night, what you were thinking, and please correct me if I’m wrong. But I promised you we would take this slow, that we wouldn’t do anything you were not ready for. I meant that, Ermal. Please, can you look at me? I don’t expect anything of you like that, if that is what you’re worried about. Please, trust me when I say that just being with you, like this, is enough for me.”

“Oh Bizio, it’s not that I don’t trust you, I do. It’s not that I don’t want you, I do. It’s just that I don’t know what will happen… I can’t really explain it. I’m just not ready for anything like _that_ right now. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Ermal, that’s okay, it’s completely okay.”

“But Bizio, I’m not inexperienced – well, I am, in a way, you know that, but I’m not… innocent, I’m not clueless. I’ve thought about this, about us, and I want it, I really do, just not now, it’s too much, it’s too _real_.”

He was blushing so much now, and it was embarrassing, but he thought he had gotten his point across, at least. And it felt good, good to share his worries, even despite the embarrassment he felt lighter, could think clearer, and he managed to look up at Fabrizio again.

“Ermal, I understand, I do understand now. We’ll just take it slow, yes? Thank you so much for telling me, really, that was so brave, too. Come on, sit up, can I hug you?”

Ermal complied and sat up, curling in on Fabrizio, who wrapped his arms around him and held him close. He was back in one of those hugs, where he felt safe and secure and loved and this made him so happy. Especially now.

“Shall I go make the guest bed for tonight?” Fabrizio asked when he had loosened the hug, and just kept Ermal close to his chest.

“No,” Ermal smiled, “Now I think I’ll sleep fine tonight next to you.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today is the day, Ermal will meet Libero and Anita. And Giada. How will that go?

The next morning, Ermal awoke from a heavy sleep, and it took him some time to remember where he was. The light in the room looked different, it smelled different, and most importantly, it felt different. Not just the mattress he was lying on, but also the rest of it. Something heavy was lying on his chest, and he was wrapped up in _warmth_. Not just the warmth of a blanket, but a more physical, more personal warmth.

He turned his head, without moving too much, and found the answer to everything. He was in Fabrizio’s room, lying in Fabrizio’s bed, with Fabrizio snuggled up against him, an arm thrown over his chest. Fabrizio was still fast asleep, and Ermal took the chance to observe the man lying next to him. Fabrizio looked so _soft_ , with his face relaxed and his hair sticking out in all directions. Not that that was any different during the day, but still.

How different this morning was from just the day before! Last night, he had actually slept, properly, deeply, well. He’d felt better after their talk yesterday, more at ease already. And the rest of the day had helped too, the domesticity of it all. They’d watched some more TV, then just lounged around while Fabrizio did a crossword in the newspaper and Ermal was reading a book he’d brought with him. Dinner passed in much the same way as the day before, cooking together, but Fabrizio handling all the more delicate steps. After dinner, the rain had finally stopped, and in the twilight they took a walk outside, just to get out of the house for a bit.

Of course, they got lost. Fabrizio hadn’t been living there long, and he hadn’t had time at all to go explore the neighbourhood. So they walked through street after street, without recognizing anything familiar.

“I’m sorry, Ermal, I should have stayed on the main road,” Fabrizio said, shooting an apologetic look at Ermal, before turning back to the crossing they now found themselves on, still with no clue where to go. Desperately, he looked left, right, and straight ahead, but didn’t see anything familiar that might help him get back home.

“Maybe we can trace our way back?” he suggested, knowing they probably couldn’t. They hadn’t been paying that much attention to their surroundings to begin with.

“Isn’t that a bar or something over there? We can ask the way there,” Ermal said, pointing down the street on the left, where he saw a neon sign in the distance.

“Yes, let’s try that,”

They’d gotten some helpful directions at the bar, and found their way back to Fabrizio’s house. When they’d finally arrived home, much later than planned, they were tired. Especially Ermal, after his almost sleepless night before. He nearly didn’t have the strength to keep his eyes open, let alone to form any coherent thoughts or worry. He brushed his teeth first, and was already almost asleep when Fabrizio joined him in bed.

“Is this okay, Ermal?” Fabrizio asked softly, wanting to make sure Ermal was comfortable this time.

Vaguely, Ermal remembered replying that yes, it was okay. Even more vaguely, almost as if in a dream, he remembered turning to his side and finding Fabrizio so much closer than expected. However, it was rather nice, the man emitting a welcome heat after their evening spent outside in chilly weather. Ermal couldn’t help but reach out and put himself as close as possible to this human heater.

“Sleep well, Bizio,” he mumbled, before closing his eyes completely and falling asleep. He didn’t notice Fabrizio’s fond smile and reply, “Sleep well, amore.”

Now, as Ermal was staring, lost in thought, Fabrizio woke up. He scrunched his nose and blinked a few times against the light now assaulting his eyes. Then he realized he was awake and didn't necessarily want to be yet, so he turned over and hid his face in the pillows with a groan.

Ermal couldn't suppress a chuckle, this was so cute.

Fabrizio mumbled something in response to that, but as it was muffled by the pillow, Ermal didn't understand a word. Or rather, as he learnt when Fabrizio deemed it important enough to raise his head, he didn't understand a word because Fabrizio was just speaking in a completely unintelligible way.

“It seems your Italian dictionary needs some time to load in the morning, doesn't it?” Ermal asked, softly laughing.

All he got was a dark look in return. It didn’t look very menacing, even though that was probably what Fabrizio was trying for. Oh, how Ermal wanted to kiss him right now. But wait, he could, couldn't he?

Yes, he could. And he did. It seemed that was a much better way of waking up Fabrizio than talking to him, because he got a much nicer response and also a much more understandable one.

They lay there in bed, cuddling, until Fabrizio finally was awake enough to face the day.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked Ermal, genuinely interested in the answer, but not really worried, given the way he had woken up and the contrast with the day before.

“Yes. I did. And this time I'm actually not lying,” Ermal replied, his hands busy tracing the tattoos on Fabrizio’s forearms. They looked beautiful in the soft light that filtered through the curtains.

“I’m glad.”

“So am I,” Ermal replied, meeting Fabrizio’s gaze and hoping his eyes would show his gratitude for how Fabrizio had reacted to everything.

“What time is it?”

“Almost eight. Do we have to get up?”

“I'm afraid so. I'm sorry to be so boring, but I have to do some cleaning before the children come. I know I won't have time for it this weekend.”

“What can I do?” Ermal asked, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Ermal, you don't have to clean my home for me.”

“Well, I'm not just going to sit there while you're doing all the work. I can help and then it'll be done quickly.”

Besides, being busy would keep his mind off worrying about meeting Giada and the children. More worrying. Wasn't it going to stop? Everything would be fine.

After breakfast, time was filled with tidying and cleaning. Ermal had finally convinced Fabrizio to let him help and was vacuuming the different rooms. When everything looked neat and tidy, they went on a quick trip to the supermarket to get ingredients for dinner and some treats for the children.

On the car ride home, Ermal was staring out of the window, chewing his lip.

“So, Giada knows I'm here?”

“Yes, she's looking forward to meet you. But Ermal, don't worry, she'll be really nice. She's just curious about you. I mean I told her about you when we met – well, she made me tell her, because she wondered why I was acting like I was – but that's not important right now.”

Was Fabrizio _blushing_? Maybe it would be rather fun to meet Giada after all.

“Besides that, of course she also knows about the letters, so I think she was almost as surprised as I was to find out you were the same person.”

“It's strange, you mentioned her a lot in your letters, and it feels a bit as if I know her, even though I don't.”

“I'm sure you'll like her!”

“And... Libero and Anita, do they know, I mean, what did you tell them?”

“I told them I had a special friend staying over and I'd like them to meet you. I think Libero knows what's up, I'm not sure about Anita. I didn't want to make it too big a deal, I didn't want to scare them off before they had actually met you. I hope it will go well. I hope they'll behave...”

Suddenly it hit Ermal that Fabrizio probably was as nervous about this whole thing as he was. Of course, for him too it was important that everyone would get along. Ermal knew how Fabrizio and the children were a package deal, and he could understand how Fabrizio might be worried about that, about the children being seen as a burden, a deal-breaker, even.

“I'm sure they will, from what I have heard they're great children. Everything will go perfectly, you'll see!”

Ermal was rewarded with a grateful smile from Fabrizio, and then they pulled into the driveway.

After unloading the groceries and tidying some things that did not need any more tidying, they ended up sitting at the kitchen table, neither of them relaxed enough to do something or focus on anything, so they sat there mostly in silence, occasionally sharing an empty remark and mirrored fake smiles. They were straining their ears to hear a car entering the driveway and the children's voices.

Finally they heard both, and the men jumped up when they noticed it. Fabrizio pulled Ermal in a quick hug as he made his way to the hallway, and despite the short length of the hug, the contact grounded them both and calmed them a bit.

Fabrizio had opened the door even before they had rang the doorbell and he had to suppress a smile at Libero’s speech and Anita’s answer that he had just picked up, before the children had noticed him.

“No Anita, we can't just walk in, papa has a guest over so it's polite to wait.”

“But I want to see them!”

Then they did notice him, and immediately, he was assaulted by a little girl running up to him and hugging his legs. He picked her up and carried her, while hugging Libero and letting him in. Giada followed the children, more composed, but inside just as excited to be here and meet this mysterious man of letters and songs.

Ermal had lingered in the hall, not sure where his place would be, but Fabrizio motioned him closer with his head.

“Libero, Anita, this is Ermal, who I wanted you to meet. He's a very good friend of mine. Ermal, Libero and Anita.”

Libero went up to Ermal and shook his hand, mumbled a hasty “nice to meet you” and then disappeared from the hallway. Fabrizio shot a look at his back that showed he had hoped for a bit more enthusiasm.

Anita, on the other hand, was more excited to see Ermal than her brother had been, though not necessarily because of Ermal himself.

“Oh, your hair is beautiful, Mr Ermal! Can I touch it?”

Fabrizio smiled apologetically at Ermal, who didn't mind it in the slightest. Surprisingly, really, because usually he didn’t like people touching his hair. But how could he resist those eyes the little girl had been gifted with? Besides, he wanted to make a good impression on the children.

“Can I?” he asked Fabrizio, extending his arms to take Anita from Fabrizio.

“Of course! Anita, be careful, you know how it can hurt if someone touches your hair too roughly. If Ermal tells you to stop, you listen, okay?”

“Yes, papa.”

“Good girl. Okay, Ermal, then this is Giada, Giada, this is Ermal.”

Ermal shifted Anita to his left arm to shake Giada's hand, for a minute ignoring the strange sensation of a child’s hand running through his curls.

“Nice to meet you! Fabrizio has told me a lot about you.”

Giada smiled with a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

“Yes, I can say the same about you. It's nice to finally put a face to a name, isn't it?”

Ermal could only nod, the double meaning not escaping him, and he braced himself for an impending interrogation.

They made their way to the living room, where Libero was leafing through a comic and Fabrizio told Ermal and Giada to take a seat while he went off to get some coffee. Anita exchanged Ermal's hair for a chance to pester her brother, which left Ermal and Giada sitting on the couch, studying each other.

“So you're from Milan right?”

“I live in Milan, but I'm from Bari. Well, I grew up in Albania.”

“And how do you like Rome so far?”

“Well, I can't say I have seen much yet, the weather wasn't great. Though yesterday we went for a walk around here. Saw more of the neighbourhood than we planned to, really.”

Giada started laughing, “Don't tell me Fabrizio managed to get lost again.”

“Yeah, he did,” Ermal answered with a smile.

“Something you should quickly learn is to always know where you are, where you want to go, and how to get there, because if you leave it up to Fabri you'll just go in circles,” Giada advised him.

At that, Fabrizio came in with a tray of steaming cups and two glasses of juice for the children.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and your inability to navigate.”

“I can navigate perfectly well, Giada, I just so happen to take the scenic route.”

“Of course you do.”

Ermal smiled again, his nerves quickly disappearing. As Fabrizio had said, Giada was really nice and although he was sure there'd be some more questions directed at him, he could handle them. Especially now that Fabrizio was back.

Giada asked him about his job and how he had met Fabrizio and how he'd found out he already knew him as Bizio. Ermal happily answered her questions and asked his own in return, now relaxed and glad to talk to Giada.

She couldn’t stay too long, as she had a dinner planned with friends. Fabrizio got up and went to find Libero and Anita to tell them their mother was leaving. As soon has he'd left the room, Giada turned to Ermal.

“I like you, and you make Fabrizio happy, disgustingly so, even. So I'm telling you this plainly, and I trust I only have to do this once, don't break his heart. I know where to find you, with your letters written from Milan.”

Ermal gulped, the implicit threat rather clear. Before he could react to it, Giada's countenance had already changed, her serious face exchanged for a smile and she pulled him in a hug.

“It was really nice to meet you, Ermal. Have a nice weekend, and don't let that little girl run all over you with her fondness for your curls!”

Then the children came running in and hugged her goodbye, and after a while she left. The children quickly were off again to play, and Fabrizio and Ermal started dinner.

“That went well, didn't it? I told you Giada would be nice to you.”

“Yes, you were right,” Ermal answered, trying not to think of that threat she'd made just before she left. He had no intention of breaking Fabrizio’s heart and he guessed he deserved the warning, but she had looked rather scary then. But yes, otherwise she was really kind.

Dinner passed quickly, Anita chatting nonstop, telling stories about her week at school and asking Ermal a hundred questions. He replied patiently, while Fabrizio tried to get her to calm down a bit and also focus on her food that was getting cold. He also tried to involve Libero in the conversation, as he was rather quiet, but didn’t really succeed at that. The boy just gave short answers when Fabrizio asked him anything, and even shorter ones when Ermal did. Then in the evening, they watched TV together until Fabrizio put first Anita to bed and then also Libero. Some time later, Ermal went to find Fabrizio in the kitchen, where he was tidying the counter. He had waited for Fabrizio to join him again in the living room, but he hadn’t.

“Hey Fabrizio? Is everything all right?”

“Yes, yeah, it’s all fine.”

Fabrizio took a deep breath and looked up at Ermal.

“I’m sorry for how Libero is acting towards you.”

“Don't be, I know he doesn't mean it personally. You said he probably knows what there is between us? I can understand how that might seem threatening or scary and it's upset him. Or maybe it's something else that's bothering him, and he’s just acting off because of that.”

“Still, he could be a bit more polite.”

Ermal stepped over to Fabrizio and put a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll just give him space, hopefully he'll warm up to me eventually. But you know my thoughts on this, Bizio. Libero is more important to you than I am, and I'll do what I have to do, no matter how difficult. I don’t want to leave, but if that is what it takes, I’ll do it.”

Fabrizio turned to Ermal to hug him, but halfway through the movement he froze.

“Libero. What's wrong, dear?”

“I can't sleep, papa.”

Fabrizio shot Ermal a worried glance and then went over to his son.

“Come on, let's get you a bit to drink and then I'll put you back to bed.”

Ermal watched them go and sighed. He patiently waited for Fabrizio to come back down and looked at him inquisitively when he did.

“Did he say anything?”

“Not much. I wonder how much he's heard.”

“I'm sure it will be fine, Bizio, just give him some time.”

“Yes. I'm sure you're right. Let's go sleep, no doubt it'll be a long day tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to update earlier, and I also wanted to write a longer chapter than this, but I in fact wrote so much that I decided to split the chapter in two. So the next update should be here soon :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ermal's stay at Fabrizio's place continues. How will it go with the children this weekend? Will Libero come around or is everything bound to end in disaster?

In the morning they were awakened early by a little girl entering their room. She came in skipping and ready to jump on the bed, but hesitated when she saw that Fabrizio was not alone in the room.

“Papa, why is Mr Ermal in your bed?” she asked in a stage whisper.

“Because he's a very special friend,” Fabrizio replied, awake at once, stroking her hair. “Come on, let's go downstairs and I’ll make you some breakfast, so we don't wake up Ermal too.”

He then put on some pants and quietly left the room.

Ermal, however, was already awake and lay there frozen and a bit mortified. He and Fabrizio had only shared the bed, nothing had happened, but this carried implications, didn't it? Two adults sharing a room, a bed, when there was a perfect guest room available? Anita surely would be too young to realize it, but Libero wasn't. Ermal had meant it when he told Fabrizio the children were more important than he was, and he would leave if it didn't work out, and stop seeing Fabrizio. It would kill him, he was sure it would, but he would _not_ come between Fabrizio and the children. He wouldn't.

He wasn't able to sleep anymore and he rather wanted some distraction from these dark thoughts, so he got dressed and made his way to the kitchen.

He was greeted by an enthusiastic “We’re going to the zoo today!” from Anita, and a fond smile from Fabrizio.

“Prepare yourself, it’s going to be a busy day!”

Busy, it was indeed, as they found out when they had arrived at the zoo. Apparently, half the city and all their friends had decided to go to the zoo exactly today as well. Quickly, they found out the reason why, a baby elephant had been born, and this was the first day he would be outside and visible for the public.

There were crowds and crowds of people everywhere, and they shuffled along the paths. Fabrizio and Ermal were carefully keeping an eye on the children, who had the time of their lives, pointing out the animals to each other, spending ages looking at the baby elephant, and playing in the playgrounds. Finally, it was time for something to eat, because they had all become rather hungry. Through the masses of people they made their way to one of the restaurants, only to find that more masses had had the same idea as them, and the restaurant and all the tables were absolutely crowded.

Fabrizio looked around, but didn’t see an empty table, and he knew better than to take the children with him in the queue for food, if there was another option. And there was. Because he had Ermal.

“Okay, if you three stay here then I'm going to get some food, and I'll come back to you. Then we can all look for a place to sit, yes?”

Before Ermal could really react, Fabrizio had gone off to join some no doubt long queue. He looked down at the children. He'd rather have been the one to go get the food, but there'd been no time to argue.

“Do you want to hold my hand so we don't lose each other?”

Anita immediately grabbed on to his hand, but Libero shook his head.

“That's all right, but stay close to me, okay?”

They really weren't standing in a very good place, basically in the middle of the path of everyone coming from or going towards the restaurant, and many people passed them on both sides. Ermal looked around to see if there was a more quiet place, but he also didn't want to move too far away, because then Fabrizio wouldn't be able to find them again.

Suddenly, he felt Anita tug on his arm.

“What's up, Anita?”

“Ermal, didn't you say that we should stay close to you?”

“Yes, otherwise you might get lost in all these people, and then your papa and I can't find you again.”

“Then where is Libero?”

Libero? Ermal suddenly noticed that the boy had disappeared. Frantically he looked around him, feeling a cold hand wrench his heart. One job, he had one job. Oh God, where was he?

“Did you see where he went?” he asked Anita, trying not to show how he was panicking. But the little girl just shook her head. He had to look for him and find him before Fabrizio returned. Hopefully that would be a while and he could fix this mess. But what if something had happened? What if something bad had happened, and it would all be his fault, because he couldn’t keep his eyes on two children for even five minutes? Fabrizio would hate him, and it would be perfectly understandable, and Ermal knew he would hate himself too. He _had_ to find Libero.

“Okay, Anita, I'm going to put you high up on my shoulders and then you can look for him as well!”

And even he wouldn't manage to lose a child that was sitting on his shoulders, right? Ermal carefully noted where they were standing to find the place back and then went on a search for Libero. It felt like it took ages and ages. Finally, he saw a small hand point in front of his eyes.

“There he is, I see him!”

Ermal followed Anita's finger until yes, that looked like the coat Libero had been wearing. He rushed over to the child and hoped and prayed it would indeed be Libero.

It was.

“Libero! Are you alright?”

“Ermal? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... Well, I did, but then... But then...” He burst into tears.

“It's okay, Libero, everything is all right now, come on, let's first go back to where we will meet your papa.”

Damage control. First go back to where Fabrizio could find them. Then figure out how to calm down Libero and maybe find out what happened. But that was not the most important thing right now. Get back to where Fabrizio could find him, because what would he think if they had all disappeared?

Ermal put down Anita and grabbed both her and Libero’s hand and made his way back through the crowds to where Fabrizio would find them. That lamppost. That table with the old couple with the matching coats, thank god they hadn't left yet. Yes, here it was. No Fabrizio yet, that was good.

Ermal crouched down in front of Libero, not forgetting to keep a tight grip on Anita too, and looked at the boy.

“Do you want to tell me what happened? You don't have to, but I'd like to know.”

Libero still sniffled a bit, and dried his tears on his arm. Ermal knew he had some tissues with him, but he didn't have a hand free to get them. What would be better? Drying Libero’s tears in a proper way or running no risk at all of another lost child? Before he could decide, Libero started talking.

“I... I wanted to just get away for a minute, just to show you I could and... I don't know, I shouldn't have but... I just... I don't know. But I meant to be gone for just a second and then come back! I swear I was! I wasn't running away or anything! But then there was this group of people and then I couldn't see you anymore and I had just lost you and I was scared of not finding you again and then papa would be so mad and I'm so sorry. Ermal, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please don't be angry!”

“Oh Libero, I'm not angry. I'm upset with you for running away on purpose, that was really not nice of you. And dangerous too! I was so scared when you were gone and we couldn’t see you anywhere! But you're back now, that's all that matters. Libero, tell me though, did something else happen? Or were you just scared when you lost us?”

“Nothing else happened, really!”

Ermal breathed a sigh of relief, now all worst case scenarios were dispelled. He got up again and looked around. Still no Fabrizio. He had things under control. All was well. He hadn’t ruined his relationship. Good.

“I'm glad, Libero. Is there anything you need, anything I can do? I'm sure your papa will be back soon.”

“Are you... are you going to tell him?” Libero asked with a small voice.

Ermal quickly thought about it. If he would, he was sure Fabrizio would be upset with Libero, even more than he already was for his curt behaviour towards Ermal. Did he really want to cause that much trouble between them? Because in the end this was all because of him, and he had vowed not to upset the relationship between Fabrizio and his children.

“I won't, this time. But promise me you won't do this again, Libero. You really scared me.”

“I promise. I'm sorry. Ermal, thank you.”

“It's okay.” Ermal reached down to brush some last stray tears away, keeping hold of Libero’s hand as he did so.

“Can I...” Libero started but then trailed off.

“Yes? Tell me, please?”

“No, it’s stupid.”

Ermal crouched down again and looked at the boy.

“Please, tell me?”

“Can I get a hug? Papa always does that to show he's not angry anymore after we apologized.”

“Of course you can, that's not a stupid thing to ask! Come here!”

He pulled the boy in a tight one armed hug (he wasn't going to let go of either one of the children until Fabrizio was back and they were sitting at a table).

“I want a hug too!” Anita demanded, feeling left out of the interaction for long enough and sensing that the serious part was over.

Ermal hugged her tight in his other arm and felt some unidentified feeling flutter in his chest.

“Ani, don't say anything to papa either!” Libero hissed at Anita, and Ermal had to suppress a smile. Siblings would be siblings.

“Come on, all is well, yes?” he said as he let the children go and straightened up again.

“No, it’s not,” Anita said, and Ermal felt his heart stop. What had he missed _now_?

“What's wrong, Anita?”

Really, he deserved a medal for keeping his voice as steady as he did, while his thoughts were racing through possibilities of things that were not all well.

“I’m even hungrier than before and I want papa to come.”

“Yes. Well, I'm sure he'll be here any minute now!” Ermal breathed in relief. Nothing else had gone wrong, just hungry, and that was being taken care of. He hadn’t messed up something else. But he shared Anita’s sentiment. He also wanted Fabrizio to come. Please, could he hurry up? Ermal wasn’t sure he could take this any longer, not on his own.

“Are you waiting for me?”, a voice came from behind Ermal and they all looked up.

“Papa!”

“Yes, and I bring food! Let's find a place to sit!”

Apparently Fabrizio didn't notice anything had happened, or he chose not to ask about it. He must have noticed that Libero was a lot more open towards Ermal, but he also didn't comment on that. At least, not until he and Ermal were in bed that night, Fabrizio staring up at the ceiling.

“So, it seems that Libero has had quite the change of heart about you.”

“Hmhm,” Ermal replied noncommittally, wondering where this was going.

“Did anything happen when I was getting food today?”

Ermal didn't reply, what to say? He had promised Libero he wouldn't tell, but he also did not want to lie to Fabrizio.

“Ermal?”

“Bizio, I can't tell you. I promised Libero I wouldn't say anything, I'm sorry.”

Fabrizio was quiet and Ermal rushed to fill the silence, though he didn't know what to fill it with.

“I’m really sorry, I’m not trying to undermine you or whatever, it wasn't... Nothing bad happened, I swear! It wasn't... I didn't... I... I really tried my hardest, please believe me.”

Fabrizio rolled over on his side to face Ermal.

“You know what Libero told me tonight when I put him to bed? He said he had made a mistake in judging you and that he's sorry he was acting so childish. And he specifically asked me to tell you that he doesn't want you to leave because of him.”

“He... He did?” Ermal stammered.

“I don't know what happened today, and that's okay, it's between you and Libero, I trust you in that, of course I do. I do know you did the best you could. And I do know that you handled the situation in the best way possible, if this is the outcome, and I'm so proud of you. – No Ermal, don't cry. Come here.”

And Ermal hid his tears in Fabrizio’s arms and felt a warm feeling of acceptance and responsibility and _trust_ settle in his chest, a feeling he had never expected, not like this.

The rest of his days in Rome passed quickly, easily. After the bumpy start, now everything felt just like Fabrizio had done from the beginning, like home. The quick change should maybe be scary, but it somehow wasn't, it felt natural, it felt _right_. And Ermal loved every minute of his stay.

He loved it when the next morning Anita woke them up by jumping on middle of the bed without hesitating at all.

He loved it when he watched Fabrizio play football with Libero in the garden.

He loved it when Anita at the same time decided to ‘do his hair’ and he ended up with six lopsided ponytails.

He loved it when he and Fabrizio made dinner together again.

He loved it when Libero came up to him and asked to talk to him, and said that he was sorry for how he had behaved towards Ermal, and that he hoped Ermal would stay, and hugged him again.

He loved it when Fabrizio asked him to clean the kitchen while he gave Anita a shower after she was ‘attacked’ by a box of cocoa powder (that was quite a change from “you don't have to clean my house for me, Ermal” and it made him feel accepted and a part of the family, even though he shied away from that thought, surely it was too soon to think like that).

He loved it when they spent the last evening with the four of them playing board games.

He loved it when he found out that, while Anita had a knack to wake up at ungodly hours of the morning during the weekend, school was not a good enough reason to get her out of bed, and it took rather a lot of convincing on Fabrizio’s part to get her ready to leave the house on Monday.

He loved it when he realized that Fabrizio’s inability to speak Italian in the morning was a family trait that only had seemed to skip Libero.

He loved it when he and Fabrizio went through the house for another round of tidying up after the children had gone to school (the _domesticity_ of it).

He loved it when Fabrizio and he had time for each other again, for only each other.

He loved it when they were each doing their own thing, Ermal reading his book, Fabrizio going through messages from fans, sitting in the same room together.

Ermal loved every minute, and that feeling should be scary, but somehow it wasn't. He felt at home, and he realized he wanted to keep this. Forever, if he could.

 

_Rome, 22-04-2019_

_My dearest Bizio,_

_Right now, you’re probably thinking I’m just reading, which was what I was doing when you left the room. You’re now starting dinner (our last dinner together for a while), but you told me it was okay if I just stayed here. I’m wondering if you finally realized what a danger I am in the kitchen and you’re trying to save your house, or if you just don’t mind cooking on your own while I’m engrossed in a book. Well, was, because I switched to writing you this._

_I’m writing you this because there are some things I wanted to tell you, and haven’t yet, or I have and I just want to tell you again. I’ll leave this somewhere you’ll find it when I’ve left tomorrow._

_Thank you so much for the way you reacted, the way you comforted me and put me at ease, that first day, but especially after that first night. Rationally, I knew all the things you told me, but you don’t know how much I needed to hear them. Thank you. Thank you for saying exactly the right things and doing the right things, and thank you for you being you._

_Also, I had a great time with the children and Giada was just as nice as you had told me. Really, they are all lovely, and thank you for introducing me to them. Bizio, I should have realized earlier than I did that you would be worried about it too, even as you only tried to reassure me. I’m sorry for not noticing, for not thinking about it. The stakes were just as high for you as they were for me, and yet I worried only about myself. But now I can happily say, I really liked meeting Libero and Anita, and I can only hope they feel the same about me, though things are looking better than they did at the beginning, and I am pretty sure they do like me too._

_These are some important things I needed to share with you. But there is one more thing, one very important thing._

_I love you. I don’t think I told you that yet, but it’s true, and I want you to know. I realized this week how much I love you. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t find the right moment. It would have sounded trivial, or it would have seemed only a response to something that happened. And it’s so much more than that, it’s something deep inside me, a constant presence. So I write it here. Given our past, I don’t think you’ll mind, or see this as any less sincere than anything I would have told you in person._

_I love you, and I’ll miss you. So much._

_\- Ermal_


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ermal and Fabrizio make plans to see each other again, and it's time for Fabrizio to meet Ermal's family. Will he survive that?

_Rome, 13-06-2019_

_My dearest Ermal,_

_I was going through some old letters, just rereading a piece here and there, and I came across the ones we sent when we first met each other. Looking back now, it seems so obvious, though it’s still hard to believe that we were us, and sometimes it still feels like a dream that you feel the same for me as I do for you. That one day I’m going to wake up and find that nothing was real, that my life is just an empty copy of the one I have now..._

_But what I also found was our list of fears and worries that we had about this whole thing. And I’m pretty sure we’ve overcome most of them (just like I told you we would!). One of my biggest worries was how to make the long distance aspect work. Isn’t it funny, now at least, that that literally was the only thing I should not have worried about, because if anyone could make this work, it would be us? A long distance relationship is what we have succeeded at for years and years, so of course we can do it now too._

_I mean, of course it’s difficult, of course I miss you, of course I wish you would be closer to me, but besides that, it is so easy. At least, I think it is. The communication part of it is easy. Still the way that we know best, the letters, but now also phone calls, video calls, texts. You feel so close, at least in an abstract way. Somehow it makes sense, with all the history we share, all the thoughts we have shared throughout the years, it counts for something, and it pays off. But still, we talked about it, how we were afraid it would work against us, knowing each other’s minds so intimately. But I can safely say now that it hasn’t. Not at all. If anything, it makes this whole relationship so much better. I know your way of thinking, the way you react to things, how you express your emotions. I know you. And that makes everything so much easier._

_I don’t exactly know where I’m going with this. But I guess it’s something you might like to hear anyway. You know, sometimes there is this part of me that wants to write letter-you just to tell you about my perfect boyfriend. Just like I would if you were not both of them. Just the little things that make me so so happy. And usually I try to keep it in, because you’re not only letter-you but also perfect boyfriend-you and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or self-conscious._

_But there are times when it’s so hard, when I want to scream of the rooftops how much I love you, and even though everything is different now, these letters are still the place for me where I dare to be most honest. I’m so happy we haven’t lost that. I realize that this whole letter has turned into a love letter already and I know it’s not my usual style, but please allow me this for once. Next time, I’ll be back to my usual self, just telling you what I’ve been up to, talking about all sorts of things. This once though, I’ll indulge myself. I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but these are all things you deserve to know, deserve to hear over and over again, because you are perfect, and I love you._

_I love the sound of your voice when we call late at night. I love how your letters always, always, without fail, make me smile. I love how we still like the same music. Speaking of that, I love your music, and the lyrics you write, saying so much with so few words. I love all those elevator selfies you send me, and I love how you’re always asking me to send you one. I don’t know where you find those elevators, because whenever I am in one it either has no mirror or very bad lighting. I even love the feeling of missing you, because it reminds me of how much I love you and how happy you make me._

_I love it how you always ask after the children whenever we speak, and here I must tell you they really loved the postcards you sent them last time, they were so excited to get their own mail, and when they saw the cards were from you they loved them even more. Anita has hers on her bedside table, and Libero as put his on the pin board above his desk. I love how you include them in this, I really do. I know for you it is a natural thing to do, but it’s not for so many others, and I want to thank you for that, Ermal._

_Then finally, to end with something else, I was checking my calendar for the summer, and there is this week at the end of July, beginning of August, where I have nothing planned. If you are free then, do you want to spend the time together? I’d love to see you again, and for a longer period of time too! Let me know what you think!_

_\- Bizio_

 

_Milan, 16-06-2019_

_My dearest Bizio,_

_Thank you so much for your letter, you don’t know how much it made me smile, and it really had the perfect timing, because I had just had a shitty day. I want to tell you so much all the things I love about you make a list of fit, but I won’t do it this time, because right now I just need to vent and get all this off my chest, as you probably can tell by the quick reply. I’m sorry. I love you, though, I love you so much._

_I’m so annoyed, Bizio. I was contacted by the management of this artist to write some songs. So sure, I agreed, it’s my job. But the artist did not want to meet with me, at all, showed no interest whatsoever, just expected the songs to be ready when they asked for them._

_So I gave them some of the generic ones I have lying around. And they’re not bad songs, though I have to admit they’re also definitely not the best. I’m not going to waste songs I’m proud of in an artist so... conceited. Anyway, I’m rather glad I didn’t, because it doesn’t end here. I heard back from management at first, saying they were satisfied and thanking me. It did seem rather like a standard reply and I doubt they actually looked at the songs at all. Then today I got another message telling me that the artist was not happy with the songs, because they were not relatable enough. Excuse me, not relatable enough? _

_I gave them the option I always give artists, the one I actually prefer, to sit down with me and discuss what they expect from me, what they want to do. You know I do that. They didn’t want that, and that’s okay, but now they have the audacity to complain the songs are not relatable  enough? How would I know what is relatable if I haven’t even met you once? How would I know what is relatable if you have told me literally nothing? Bizio, how can they do this? Of course I just told them this is what they could get and nothing else, but honestly, I can’t get over this. I’m dreading their reaction a bit, because that email I sent was not polite at all, and also I realized today that they haven’t actually paid me yet._

_But like I said, I can’t get over this. I like my job, I like writing music, I like sitting down with people, finding out their stories and putting it into songs. And even if they don’t want that, if they don’t want it to be so personal that’s okay, but then meet with me and go through the options with me. Tell me what they want me to do. I’m not a mind reader, I’m not some machine spewing out songs, why don’t they realize that? I’m human, it takes effort, it takes work. And I like it, I do, but not like this, when there is so little consideration or appreciation. This whole interaction tastes so sour, and I’m actually… a bit apprehensive about any other first meetings I have in the coming weeks. What if they turn out like this one?_

_It also made me think back on my cooperation with you. Even just the first meetings, before there was anything else, it was just so nice, you were so kind and nice, really thinking along, showing me where you wanted to go even when you said you didn’t know. I looked forward to those meetings, they would be so easy, we would make music the way it was meant, with ease, with fun, but with meaning too. I’m not telling you this because you’re my boyfriend, I’m telling you because it is honestly the truth, you really were my favourite client I’ve ever had. Of only more artists were like you._

_To turn to nicer topics, I’d absolutely love to spend time with you in the summer! Of course I do, that’s really not a question! If you would come to Milan, you might be able to meet my mother, if you want that. She was talking about coming to visit me for a few days in August, so I can ask her to come in the beginning, so you’re both here at the same time. I think she would like that, she’s curious about you, but polite enough not to nag me about meeting you (though I think her patience is running out). Of course, tell me if you don’t want that, I understand, and it’s totally okay! I, at least, would love to see you no matter what. God, it’s been too long already, and I miss you, I miss your hugs, I miss your kisses, I miss looking at your perfect face, but it’s been so busy. Same story as around Christmas, all these people trying to finish up projects before summer and failing. But let’s not talk about that now, I don’t want to fill this letter with even more complaining._

_Anyway, I really wish I could respond in kind to your sweet, perfect letter, but it just didn’t work right now. I’m sorry for complaining so much. Still, you know I love you, and I know I could write pages and pages of all the things you do and say that make me feel like that. I promise you, one of these days you’ll get one too. Thank you so much, again, your timing was impeccable, and really, you don’t know how much I needed to read those things exactly this week._

_Bizio, I love you, you are perfect too._

_\- Ermal_

Ermal had just come home from the studio, and was now sorting through the small stack of mail he had found in his post box. Junk mail, some bills, and a letter from Bizio. Ermal smiled at it, decided to get a drink and then read it at his leisure. He had just started his walk to the kitchen when his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. Fabrizio. With the letter in one hand and the phone in the other, he answered the call.

“Hi, Bizio.”

“Hi, love,” came Fabrizio’s reply, and even that made Ermal’s day better. Their days had been busy, and he hadn’t spoken to Fabrizio in a while, and it was so lovely to hear that voice again.

“I just got your letter, but I see you’re too impatient to wait for a reply,” Ermal joked.

Fabrizio chuckled shortly, and then replied, “No, it’s not that, I just thought of something. But only after I already sent the letter. Also, it’s better to get your answer immediately, I think.”

“Yes? What is it?” Ermal asked, curious now.

“You wrote that your mother might be in Milan when I am there too.”

“Yes, she isn’t sure yet, though. So you might be lucky, if you’re scared to meet her.”

“No, about that, I was wondering…” Fabrizio began, but trailed off.

“Bizio, tell me,” Ermal said, after a second of silence.

“What if we go to Bari, together, for just a few days before we’ll go to Milan. I’d love to meet your mother, and your siblings too, and see the city you grew up in.”

It came out in a rush, Fabrizio clearly nervous about what he was asking, possibly worried he was overstepping some boundaries. Boundaries that weren’t there, because this really was the sweetest suggestion, and Ermal hadn’t expected it at all. Fabrizio actually wanted to meet his family, his whole family, not just his mother, and he wanted to see Bari, even though he had undoubtedly been there dozens of times before? He couldn’t get his mind to formulate an answer immediately, and made Fabrizio even more insecure.

“Ermal? I’m sorry if this is a bad idea, forget I said anything, we’ll just do the Milan thing as planned. Just ignore what I said. But please say something.”

“No, no, Bizio, it’s a perfect idea, I love it. But…” Ermal replied quickly, suddenly rather missing the feeling of a curly telephone cord to wrap around his fingers while talking. Those old phones, at least they had a built-in stress reliever. As it was, all he could do was pace the room and press his phone to his ear, harder than necessary.

“Erm, tell me,” Fabrizio’s voice came, echoing Ermal’s words from before.

“Are you really okay with that? I don’t want to force my family on you, or make you feel like you have to meet all of them at once. They can be quite… intense.”

Fabrizio didn’t really need to know, and definitely not now, that Ermal had been thinking about Fabrizio meeting his family, and that those thoughts had rather spiralled into doom scenarios occasionally. It would only make it worse for Fabrizio.

“Of course I’m okay with that, I wasn’t lying when I said I really want to meet them. And come on, Ermal, don’t think your family will scare me away so easily. It’s me with the children, one of who is more attached to your hair than you, and we won’t even talk about the other’s behaviour when he first met you. And then there is the crazy ex who insisted she wanted to come over to meet you on your first visit to me. It’s enough to send anyone away screaming, and yet here you still are.”

“Okay, if you say it like that, you have a point. Though don’t underestimate my family. My mother will no doubt interrogate you, possibly threaten you, and I don’t think she’s ever gotten over that unexplained gap in the letters back then. And Rinald will just act like a teenage girl meeting her boyband idol, it will be awkward for everyone involved,” Ermal replied. Those weren’t doom scenarios, those were just realistic and definitely going to happen.

“And Sabina? What horror will she unleash upon me?”

“Oh no, Sabina will only unleash horror upon _me_ , and embarrass me in front of you at every chance she’ll get. You’ll probably like it,” Ermal said, laughing now.

“But could we go? To Bari first, before we go to Milan together? I could meet you at the station or something?”

“If you are sure you want to do this, then yes, I’d love to. I’m also sure my mother will be delighted, ever since those first letters she’s been pushing me to meet up with you, and now she finally gets a chance to see you in real life! But do you have enough time take such a long break?”

“It’s just a few more days than we planned now, I’m sure I can make it work. I can reschedule some meetings around the week I kept empty. And Ermal, I told you, I’ll always make time to see you, don’t worry about that. You will always be more important than my job.”

Ermal took a deep breath, smiling. How had he found such a perfect boyfriend?

“I love you, Bizio, and I’m looking forward to seeing you. I’ll be counting the days!”

“Me too. I love you too,” came the reply. It took some time for them to end the call after that, not wanting to end this moment, not ready to say goodbye again. But at least now they knew when they would see each other again. Soon, soon.

Relatively soon, at least, because still the days seem to creep by, even despite how busy Ermal was. Finally, though, he had taken a plane and landed in Bari. It was great to be back, to walk those familiar streets again, to see his family again, but almost more so, to see the sea. His mother shook her head when he headed out again in the evening, but knew him better than to say anything about it. Her oldest son loved the sea, and he had to miss it enough, living in Milan as he did.

Ermal had arrived in Bari two days before Fabrizio would. While the time before he got there passed slow, so slow, now the days flew by. He knew why, despite knowing everything would be well, he was nervous. And he wasn’t the only one. His mother kept bringing up Fabrizio, wondering if he would like the house, like the city. She got out the thick fluffy towels form the back of the closet, and washed the good china so they could use that instead of the plain everyday plates. Ermal tried to tell her the plain china would be fine, but she didn’t listen. She asked him what Fabrizio would like to eat, should she cook Albanian food or rather something Italian? Were there any drinks he liked in particular? Snacks? Could she do anything else? Prepare anything?

Ermal was touched by her thoughtfulness, and softened by her nerves. He tried to remember if she had acted like this when he had brought Silvia home the first time, but he didn’t know. He didn’t think so. No doubt she would make Fabrizio answer some difficult questions, but it was clear that she wanted to make a good impression on him too, and that she wanted to _like_ Fabrizio. Somehow it made his nerves disappear. It would go well, Fabrizio was sweet and perfect, and he would no doubt be met with approval. And Fabrizio could stand his own in an interrogation, he was sure of that.

Well, it made his nerves almost disappear, because while his mother was no longer a source of worry, his siblings still were. He had subtly tried to tell Rinald that this would not be a meet and greet, and although Fabrizio would no doubt like a compliment or two on his music, he was there as himself and not as the artist, so they should also talk about other things as well. He hadn’t tried to talk to Sabina to steer her into any direction, knowing full well that it would backfire and cause Sabina to do and say exactly those things he didn’t want her to. Instead, he had asked Fabrizio to take pity on him at times and maybe talk about Libero and Anita, or ask after Sabrina’s children, just as a diversion tactic.

He had prepared everything as well as he could, and now here he was, at the train station, waiting for Fabrizio. He had texted Ermal that he had caught all his trains as he was supposed to, so within ten minutes he should be here. Here in Bari, here to hold, to hug, to touch, to kiss. Finally, after weeks and weeks of nothing more than words on paper, a voice distorted in a phone, and pixels on a screen, he would be here person. Ermal was looking forward to it, he had missed his Bizio. His stay in Rome felt like ages ago, even though it was only a few months. Still, the few months without Bizio had passed as long and empty ones. It was a bit scary how much Ermal suddenly needed this man in his life.

Time had passed while he had been lost in thoughts, and the train rolled into the station. Just mere minutes now. Seconds even. And yes, here he was, Fabrizio, sunglasses on, suitcase behind him, making his way towards Ermal. Finally, he was right in front of him, the sweetest smile on his face, and Ermal opened his arms for a hug. One of those amazing hugs, tight and warm and long. Nothing more though than a hug, not now while they were in public like this.

“Come, let’s go to the car, and go home,” Ermal said, taking Fabrizio’s suitcase from him, “Tell me about your journey on the drive.”

Fabrizio did, and quickly they had arrived at their destination. Ermal soundlessly let them in the house using his key, finally kissed Fabrizio deeply and then looked at him.

“Are you ready?”

“I am,” Fabrizio replied with a steady smile, “More than ready.”

“Good,” Ermal said softly, and then added louder, “We’re home!”

They were to spend about two days in Bari together, this evening a family dinner was planned and then tomorrow Ermal was going to show Fabrizio around in the city. They would leave for Milan early the day after that.

First though, they were greeted by Ermal’s mother who appeared from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel. Ermal watched with a smile as Fabrizio and his mother met, in a way finally, after all these years, though their relationship now was so different from what it would have been years ago.

He watched Fabrizio made a good first impression on his mother. He was dressed well, which admittedly was a change, and he was his kind, thoughtful, perfect self, getting out a small present from his suitcase. He handed it over with a smile.

“I wanted to bring flowers but I didn’t think they would survive the journey.”

He watched as his mother told Fabrizio that he shouldn’t have, but read in her smile how much she liked it. He steered them towards the living room, told them to sit down while he fetched some coffee. Both Fabrizio and his mother did so, but not before the latter had told him to “stay away from the stove”. At that, Fabrizio chuckled heartily, and Ermal knew that he could safely leave them for a bit, as they discussed his lack of culinary skills. It was fine. He could live with that, it was true after all.

Conversation flowed easily between the three of them, Ermal’s mother occasionally stepping out to check on the food. She had settled on something Albanian in the end, and the smell took Ermal back to so many birthdays and good memories, it was his favourite dish, and he knew that that choice had been made for him. An implicit way of his mother to give him her blessings, even though she had already told him how happy she was for him that he had found someone to make him so happy.

Ermal tensed up a bit when his mother asked how they handled the distance between them, and Fabrizio replied that they still sent letters, so many letters. This was the perfect opportunity for his mother to tell Fabrizio what she thought of how he had behaved all those years ago, ending with a “you better have learned from your mistakes”. She was more subtle, but no less scary than Giada had been, but Fabrizio handled it well, reassuring her that he never would do the same again, and telling her how bad it still made him feel to have hurt Ermal like that. Ermal’s mother was quickly convinced by his sincere words and honest eyes, and surely the loving looks and soft discrete touches the two shared when they thought she wasn’t looking, didn’t hurt either.

Time passed quickly and soon it was time for dinner, Rinald and Sabina arriving too, curious to meet this man who had managed to capture their brother’s heart. Surprisingly, they behaved themselves. Of course, Ermal was there to steer everything in the right direction, but he could do only so much. No, the biggest help was his mother, who had decided she rather liked Fabrizio, and made her children behave themselves so he wouldn’t be scared off. Of course, Rinald still found the courage to ask for a signature and told Fabrizio in detail what songs he liked best, and Sabina made so many insinuations about the embarrassing things Ermal had done growing up that she might as well have told them in all glory. Still, it went well, and he was surprisingly relaxed about it all, he had a nice time, and he knew Fabrizio had, too.

In the evening though, his siblings wouldn’t _leave_ and now it turned dangerous. Sabina got out some photo albums, though luckily, luckily, his mother intervened before it could become too embarrassing for him. However, no one managed to intervene when Rinald got out a guitar and handed it to Fabrizio, mostly because Fabrizio didn’t _let_ anyone intervene and gladly took it. He played the songs Rinald had mentioned to be his favourites, then looked at Sabina and Ermal’s mother to see if they had any requests, and played those. Then he came to Ermal and sang some of the songs they had written together, and Ermal didn’t even mind his brother had started this, because really, how could he object to this?

And that’s how the evening ended, finally Rinald and Sabina left, satisfied with what they had learned, Fabrizio and Ermal helped tidy up the kitchen even though Ermal’s mother tried to forbid them from doing so, and then they went to bed.

They lay there, close together, looking at each other and softly caressing each other’s faces, because finally they could, finally they could without any prying eyes on them.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Ermal whispered in the dark of the room, as Fabrizio ran his hand through his curls.

“And I you,” Fabrizio replied. “And Ermal, thanks for introducing me to your family, they are all really nice! I’m happy to be here.”

“I am happy you are happy. It went so well, don’t you think so?”

“Yes, it did. Of course it did,” Fabrizio replied, kissing Ermal softly. “Now what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“After breakfast, I’m going to give you a tour of the city, and then we’re going to the beach in the afternoon. Just the two of us. Together.”

“Sounds perfect, I’m looking forward to it!”

With one final kiss, they snuggled up together, and slept peacefully, finally back in each other’s arms.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ermal and Fabrizio's holiday continue's, now moving from Bari to Milan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the rating went up to M now, just a heads-up. And I have also updated the chapter count, after this there will be one more final chapter!

Their last full day in Bari passed much as Ermal had promised. Breakfast first, and then Ermal took Fabrizio to see the city. He showed him the highlights, busy with tourists, but also the unknown places, those parts of the city only known to someone who had spent years and years walking the streets. Ermal showed Fabrizio the places that meant something to him, told him about the memories they called up. After that, they had had lunch in a small place in an alley Fabrizio hadn’t even noticed if Ermal hadn’t pointed it out to him. There was not a tourist in sight, and the food was wonderful. Then they’d quickly gone home to change and take all their beach stuff. The afternoon passed fast, too fast, they were enjoying themselves and didn’t want it to be over. They swam in the sea, lay on the sand until they got too hot, and swam some more. Finally, they had to make their way back home, as they’d promised to be home for dinner.

They had decided to take the train to get back to Milan. No doubt they would regret that decision when delays piled up and they missed all their connecting trains, but now it seemed a good idea. With all the traveling they had done, both of them, they had never travelled together. And wasn’t it just a great excuse to spend hours together, just talking, dozing on each other’s shoulders, staring out of the window at the landscape flashing by, sharing a pair of earphones to listen to the music they both liked?

Ermal was reading a book, snuggled up to Fabrizio, who was staring out of the window, occasionally looking down at Ermal and caressing his cheek. When he noticed Ermal had finished a chapter, he slowly took the book from him.

“Ermal?”

“Yes? Need attention now, do you?” Ermal joked, fondly looking at Fabrizio. Somehow, everything was so peaceful on this train, like no problems existed at all, just the two of them floating through the corner of the world that was called Italy.

“I was just wondering, while we’re in Milan, could we take some time to have a… a business meeting, I guess. Just to discuss some details on the songs we wrote together?”

Ermal looked at Fabrizio in wonder. He had thought that that had been finished and wrapped up a long time ago. Of course, they still wrote songs together, of course they did, with how easy it was together, and how _fun_. But it wasn’t in a work setting, it wasn’t _business_.

“Sure, of course we can. We can go to the office tomorrow morning? Or first take our holiday and do it at the end of your stay with me?”

“Let’s do it at the end,” Fabrizio decided, “I like this feeling of holiday, and it’s a shame to cut it needlessly short by boring business talk.”

Ermal could do nothing else but agree with that statement. He wanted to go back to his book, but Fabrizio wouldn’t give it to him.

“Don’t read, I actually need that attention, you know,” Fabrizio said, whined almost.

“Okay then, how old are you again? Five? That’s Anita, you’re getting confused now.”

“You’re always complaining I’m old and now I’m too young? Make up your mind, Ermal,” Fabrizio replied with a smile, while threading his fingers through Ermal’s hair.

“And how would you like to be entertained today? Should I tell you a fairy-tale? Sing some annoying children’s songs? Or do you want to play a game? I spy with my little eye…” Ermal collapsed in laughter when Fabrizio punched him.

“No, Ermal, don’t be ridiculous,” Fabrizio answered, laughing too.

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop. We’ll just talk then,” Ermal said, catching his breath, and then continued, “Because tell me, how is the album coming along? I know you have been working on it, but you haven’t actually said much about it. How is it going?”

“There’s not much to tell, just… ah, all the technical stuff,” Fabrizio said, rather slowly. Ermal looked at him inquisitively.

“I know how albums are made, Bizio, why don’t you try me with the ‘technical stuff’?” The air quotes were clearly audible, and Fabrizio looked down, a bit ashamed, knowing he couldn’t and shouldn’t try to give Ermal the run-around like this.

“Wait, didn’t you also say the other day you were getting close to being finished?” Ermal continued, before Fabrizio had replied at all.

“No, well, yes, I did, but now… something’s come up, so everything is taking longer than planned,” Fabrizio stammered, not explaining at all, and Ermal knew something was going on. Before he could ask about it to figure out what it was, however, Fabrizio went on.

“But I want you to be the first one to listen to the album, definitely, I promise you that!”

This did absolutely nothing to make anything about this conversation clearer. In fact, it only made Ermal more confused.

“But Fabrizio, don’t I know the songs already? Didn’t we write them together?”

Fabrizio turned rather pink and then very clearly tried to change the subject. Ermal let him, but vowed to remember everything about this conversation to ask about it later. He really needed some answers.

“Oh Ermal, look at this, Romina has made some draft versions of cover arts, do you want to help me choose?” Fabrizio tapped around on his phone to find the pictures, and then handed his phone to Ermal.

Ermal took his time, ignoring Fabrizio’s weird behaviour for now, going through the pictures. The designs were different, but all beautiful. He scrolled through them, again and again, going back and forth, trying to decide what would fit the album best, but he had actually no idea about how Fabrizio would order the songs or what the title would be. He was just about to give his opinion, still scrolling back and forth, when suddenly Fabrizio tried to snatch the phone back.

“No, no! That was the first one, don’t –”

Only through reflexes honed by having grown up with siblings and later having the most annoying friends someone could have, Ermal managed to keep the phone out of Fabrizio’s hands and in his own, curious now. He stared at the screen, wondering what was so bad that Fabrizio didn’t want him to see it. It didn’t look too bad. What he saw was a numbered list of words. He recognized a few as song titles, songs he’d written together with Fabrizio. The track list then? But there were so many titles he’d never seen before. How, when? Fabrizio had come to him with nothing, and had left with enough songs to fill an album. So why wasn’t it filled with those songs? Where had these new songs come from?

“Bizio? Is this… the track list? Of your album?”

“I was going to… show you, eventually.” Fabrizio mumbled, not looking at Ermal.

“What are all these songs?” Ermal wondered aloud, trying to find an answer that made sense.

In the end Fabrizio told him, reluctantly, but surprisingly quickly. He knew this was something Ermal was not going to let go, and he knew when he had lost the battle.

“Those are my songs. – Listen, it’s true, when I came to you I had nothing, no songs, no ideas, no inspiration, nothing at all. But then when I met you, even after that first meeting, slowly everything came back to me. Gradually, I could come up with original melodies again, words turned into lyrics, and everything together turned into songs. And I could have told you, should have told you, maybe, that I could manage on my own, but by then I was falling quickly and I didn’t want the meetings to stop. I wanted to see you again. I wanted to make music with you again, because it was so perfect…” Here Fabrizio faltered, finally, and Ermal was impressed with how honestly he had explained everything.

A smirk started on his lips. So he had been right, after all, he hadn’t been the only one looking for excuses for another meeting, asking to keep working on another song that was already finished. But this, to keep silent about so many songs, for so long? Ermal had never expected it. Then he recalled what Fabrizio had just said.

“And I’ll be the first to listen to the songs?”

“If you want to, Ermal, I am sorry, I should have told you.”

“Nonsense, Bizio, don’t you know what a sweet surprise this is? I would love to listen to the songs, I can’t believe you’re even asking me that and doubting I’d want to.” He couldn’t help but kiss Fabrizio now, he had to.

Then another thought came to him.

“Wait, are you saying that _I_ inspired you? Are those… Are those songs about me? About us?”

Fabrizio didn’t reply, but his cheeks turning pink again was answer enough. Ermal felt himself melt, and he couldn’t help the part of his mind that was squealing, “Fabrizio Moro wrote songs about you!”. Songs had been written for him, about him, and he couldn’t believe it, and he couldn’t wait until he could listen to them. He was sure he would not survive that. He had another look at the track titles, to see if they would give him any clue, any clue at all what they were about. Of course they didn’t, and he reluctantly gave the phone back to Fabrizio, and looked at him with the sweetest smile.

“Wow, Bizio, you’re such a romantic, I love you. Come here,” Ermal said softly, pulling Fabrizio into a hug, and then just cuddling him, not releasing him until they reached Milan, and they could start their holiday together.

Theoretically, the weather was nice, and they could have gone out and explored the city. However, it was much nicer, they agreed, to stay in and spend their time together _together_ , away from the public with their prying eyes. Besides, Ermal had discovered this city with Silvia and there was both no need to replace those memories and no point in trying to force his relationship with Fabrizio into something resembling any previous relationship they’d had, because it did not work like that. They didn’t work like that.

So they stayed in, ordering in food, talking, watching movies, reading, laughing, cuddling, kissing. They had done it all before, and the time passed swiftly, happily.

Today, however, something was different about Ermal’s kisses, he could sense it. Somehow, they were needier, more desperate, and Ermal knew Fabrizio had noticed it too, because he responded in kind. He kissed him back, deeply, passionately, pushing Ermal until he fell back on the couch and Fabrizio hovered over him. Ermal was aware of Fabrizio everywhere around him, and couldn’t think of any place better to be. Still, he needed more, _more_. He let his hands slide down Fabrizio’s back, feeling the muscles shift and pulling him closer, ever closer. He thumbed his hands under the edge of Fabrizio’s shirt, needed to feel that hot skin without any barriers.

“Bizio? Can we take this... Further?” Ermal breathed, voice low and a bit shaky. Not with nerves, though, not with nerves.

Fabrizio’s eyes were dark pools when he looked down at Ermal.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“Oh yes. But Ermal, you have to answer one question, what exactly do you mean by _further_?”

Fabrizio had one hand tangled in Ermal’s curls, softly pulling, which earned him a soft moan from Ermal.

“Bizio, I want more than this, I need more than this. I need you.”

“But what do you need me to do?” Fabrizio asked as he nipped along Ermal’s jawline. “What do you want? Less clothes? My skin on yours? Is that what you _need_?”

Fabrizio slid his hands under Ermal’s shirt, hot fingers grazing up and down his back, along the waistband of his pants. Ermal couldn’t suppress another moan. This was exactly what he needed, but _more,_ still more. He didn’t get more. One by one he felt those fingers leave his skin, leaving only a tingling emptiness behind.

“God, Bizio, you’re such a tease,” he whined, embarrassed by how _needy_ he sounded. Embarrassed, but excited too.

Fabrizio chuckled softly, more breath than sound, and it tickled across Ermal’s neck, sending shivers down his spine.

“Oh, no, Ermal, I am not. I could, if I wanted to, but I am not now. I am just trying to have a serious conversation about what we expect from this, our boundaries. If you don’t tell me exactly what you mean, what you want, this is not going to work. You told me you’re not _innocent_ , not _clueless_ , now show me. Tell me what you imagine when you think of me, of us, what do we do? What do you think of when you touch yourself?”

Even during this speech, Fabrizio continued to kiss and suck the sensitive skin of Ermal’s neck, pulling him close, and Ermal was sure he would have the marks to show for it.

“Do you crave my touch, do you imagine my hands running down your body? My hands touching you, my lips, my tongue?”

Fabrizio let his hand trail softly down Ermal’s body, showing him exactly what part he meant with _you_.

“Or maybe, just maybe, you even thought of how it would feel to have my fingers inside of you? Did you? Tell me, Ermal, tell me what you want.”

Fabrizio’s voice was low and heavy in Ermal’s ears, and that combined with that soft touch was enough to make him melt. And the images in his mind…

“Right now I would let you do anything you wanted,” Ermal breathed, a shiver running down his back.

“No, no, no, Ermal, while I would love to do exactly that someday, now you have to tell me exactly what is okay and what isn’t. But let me start then. Let me tell you wat I have thought of, the things we do in my mind when I’m missing you, craving you. I have thought of making love to you, slowly, sweetly, taking my time, worshipping each part of your body. Oh, how often I have imagined that. But sometimes, maybe sometimes, if you want it too, and if we have enough time to properly take care of each other, we could spice it up and do it a bit rougher.”

Here Fabrizio reached up and pinched Ermal’s nipple. Not too hard, just a promise of what Fabrizio was thinking off, of what they could do, if only Ermal said the words.

“What would you say to that, Ermal? Would you like it? I know I would. So tell me, Ermal, tell me what you want to do with me.”

Fabrizio’s raspy voice, lower than ever before, sent shivers down to Ermal’s very core. And slowly, Ermal did exactly that, tell Fabrizio what he had thought of, imagined what they could do, at first a bit embarrassed, and blushing the whole time. He told Fabrizio what things he now so desperately wanted to do, the things he _needed_ to happen soon, what he wasn’t ready for right now, and what he didn’t want to do at all.

And he had a good incentive, not only Fabrizio’s moans and softly but passionately spoken _yes_ es and his pupils blown wide spurred him on, but Fabrizio had pulled them up to standing and through the hot kisses and touches, hands everywhere, he now manoeuvred them ever so slowly towards the bedroom, that magical place coming closer with everything Ermal said, suggested, and vetoed.

The destination was clear, as was what would happen when they would finally reach it. And Ermal needed it so badly. He needed Fabrizio so badly. And _he_ could get them there, just by telling Fabrizio all the things he had imagined in his private moments, lying in that exact same bed. It gave him incentive to be honest, to be bold, to be creative, to involve Fabrizio, asking him too what he thought of the things he suggested, proposed, the things he _wanted_ and the things he did not want.

Ermal couldn’t believe how turned on all this had made him. He had thought he wanted Fabrizio before, but now the feeling was so much stronger, so much stronger. And no matter how much they touched and kissed in between the words, it did nothing at all to alleviate this _need_ he felt. All these possibilities they talked about, with breathy, rough voices, the images the words called up, they were doing things to him. The only thing that made it better (or worse, depending on how you looked at it) was that he could feel Fabrizio having the exact same need, pressing into him.

And then, they were there, they had made it to the bedroom. Fabrizio let himself fall back on the soft mattress when he felt the backs of his legs reach the bed and pulled Ermal down on top of him. Finally, he was content with the details Ermal had given, all the possibilities now open and their boundaries established. And really, he had only so much self-restraint and it was rather difficult to keep himself under control when Ermal looked at him like _this_ , while telling him _these_ things, a little bit embarrassed but so confident at the same time, and _sounded_ like this, and _felt_ like this, and touched him like this... He couldn’t have kept this up much longer, anyway, slowly overwhelmed by everything, slowly overwhelmed by Ermal.

But finally, they had reached the bed and finally, _finally,_ all their talking turned to _doing_ , and it was so much better than either of them had ever imagined, no matter how often they had done so.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fabrizio's stay in Milan continues (and ends), and they still have that business meeting with some important things to discuss.

The week in Milan together passed quickly, and eventually they had to venture out into the world again. They needed groceries, and also Ermal’s friends had been asking after him and Fabrizio. Even though Ermal wanted to keep Fabrizio to himself, he knew he would not survive the teasing if he didn’t at least introduce him to his friends and spend an evening together. They wouldn’t forgive him for denying them the chance of meeting _the_ Fabrizio Moro, but also they wouldn’t forgive him for keeping his love life such a secret. Especially not when the love life was actually walking around in Milan with some time to spare (though really, that was questionable, the spare time).

So tonight, Ermal and Fabrizio had met the others for drinks in a bar. Ermal had warned them to behave, or he would immediately leave with Fabrizio in tow. And they did, surprisingly, behave themselves. It had taken some time to get over the initial shock of being there with a famous artist, though the alcohol had helped with that. And now everything was going smoothly.

Ermal watched happily, relieved, as Fabrizio was easily accepted and included in the conversation. He and Ermal’s friends shared common interests, music, and common friends too, they were surprised to find out. Time passed quickly, and it went so much better than he had even hoped. Yes, there was still teasing, and yes, he had severely underestimated how much black mail material his friends _exactly_ had stored on their phones, but he didn’t really mind. He had a nice evening, Fabrizio had a nice evening, and everything was working out.

“Ermal, Ermal, can you please go ask the bar tender if he has a guitar lying around somewhere? I think he does!”

Ermal shot a look at Andrea, wondering why he had to be the one to do the asking, if Andrea was so sure, but didn’t complain. A bit self-consciously he approached the bar, knowing it was rather late – or early – and at some point the bar was probably going to close. So, to placate the bar tender a bit, he first ordered another round of drinks, and then asked for the guitar, hesitatingly.

The bar tender only grunted, good-naturedly, if this smile was anything to go by, and got one from behind the bar and handed it to Ermal. He said his quick thanks, and with the guitar in one hand and the tray with drinks in the other he returned to his friends.

“Great, thanks!” Andrea said, and immediately took the guitar from him, before Ermal could so much as stop him. What followed was more hours filled with songs increasingly less well executed, as they passed the guitar around and bought more drinks.

Finishing a song, Ermal couldn’t help but marvel how lucky he was. Here, all the things he loved most in the world all connected, his love for music, his love for his friends, his love for Fabrizio. Okay, if they were on a beach or a boat it would have been even better, but already this was enough. And there would be other times, other chances, to get them all together, and some of Fabrizio’s friends too, and just have jamming sessions like this later. It would be great.

What was less great, was the headache both Ermal and Fabrizio woke up with the next afternoon. But it had been worth it, and that’s also what Fabrizio’s smile told Ermal when they finally felt well enough to have some coffee in the kitchen. They shared a last peaceful evening together, before the final day of their holiday had arrived. The day of their meeting. Ermal was curious what Fabrizio would want to discuss, but he hadn’t pressed the matter in the other days. He would find out what Fabrizio had to tell him, eventually, and he could wait for it, but he would make sure he got some answers for that strange behaviour on the train.

Now, their ‘business’ meeting was slowly coming to an end. As it had gone on, Ermal had only gotten more and more confused. Confused, because most things they discussed were things that had been concluded months ago. More and more he got the feeling that there was something else Fabrizio wanted to discuss, something important enough to go through this whole front of a meeting. But what? Surely it had something to do with music, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so adamant it was all business. So, what was it?

Finally, Fabrizio looked up at Ermal, with a serious face. Ermal looked back at him, getting a bit nervous now, it was all so _strange_.

“I wanted to talk to you about something. Something work-related.”

Ermal just nodded, “Yes, I know. That’s why we are here in my office and not in my home. What is it, Fabrizio?”

“Well, you know that song called _Non mi avete fatto niente_?”

Ermal’s confusion only grew.

“Yes, Bizio, I wrote that song together with you, I know it. What is going on, why are you so nervous? You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know. But this is rather a big thing – Okay, I’ll just say it. I was thinking of taking the song to Sanremo, if that’s okay with you.”

“To Sanremo? Of course that’s okay, you don’t have to be so nervous about asking that! It’s more than okay, that’s such a compliment as well, really! And Fabrizio, it is _your_ song, you can do with it what you want.”

Ermal really did not know why this made Fabrizio so nervous, that wasn’t necessary at all. He knew the song wasn’t bad, he loved it, he loved the message too. But hearing Fabrizio say that he wanted to take it to Sanremo, implying it was good enough to compete in such an important event, that was amazing. He looked up at Fabrizio smiling, expecting a bright, sweet smile in response, but only saw the same, serious face. There was more then?

“There is another thing.”

“Tell me, Bizio.”

“I wanted to make it a duet. I think it would work better as a duet.”

A duet? Well, why not? It would fit the song, Ermal supposed, in some way, maybe it would need some tinkering. But why, Fabrizio was perfect on his own, so why? Then a more important question occupied his thoughts. Who? Who was this person Fabrizio wanted to sing it with? Because surely, he had someone in mind already, especially if he was so sure it would work better as a duet. His mind flashed possibilities at him, artists Fabrizio had mentioned lately. Somehow, he didn’t really like any of them. They just weren’t… good enough, at least not for this song. And not for Fabrizio.

“A duet with who?”

Fabrizio was silent for a minute, just looking at Ermal, who was still going over different candidates, dismissing them all, until Fabrizio finally replied.

“A duet with you.”

Ermal just stared at Fabrizio, sure he hadn’t understood him correctly. It couldn’t be, surely it wasn’t?

“A duet with… me?” he stammered after a while, when it was clear Fabrizio was going to wait for his reaction.

“Of course, who else would do the song justice? And I just thought, our voices fit so well together, especially with a song like this. My… anger, your angelic voice, the contrast will be great, and really amplify the message.”

“But… but… Bizio, can I, can we just… do this? Just like that?”

“I’m sure we can. If you want to. You don’t have to, that’s important, Ermal, you don’t have to. You’ve been to Sanremo before, and I understand it if you don’t want to go back to that.”

Ermal thought about it, knowing that Fabrizio would give him the time he needed. He was tempted to tell him “let me consider it”, but then, what was there to consider? He might have to think about whether he wanted this, get back into the public eye like this, but he also knew he wasn’t going to pass up on this chance.

Back to Sanremo? Back to the chaos, the adrenaline, the performing, the crowds? He had been missing that, he knew he had, even though he had been suppressing those thoughts, telling himself, forcing himself, to believe writing music was enough for him. It wasn’t, it hadn’t been, or very soon it would no longer be enough. So really, he would say yes to that alone in a heartbeat.

But then, together with Fabrizio, wouldn’t that be heaven? Performing on stage with this man he loved more than anything in the world, trusted more than anyone else, had shared more of his life with than with anyone else? Besides that, performing on stage with _Fabrizio Moro,_ because he _wanted_ Ermal there, because he wanted _Ermal_ there? And that with a song they had written together, a song he was proud of, a song he loved, a song with a message so powerful that it deserved to be shared with not just Italy, but with the world? Take that to Sanremo? The only thing he could say was yes, a thousand times yes.

And so that was exactly what he told Fabrizio, who looked up at him so joyful, so relieved, and so _happy._ That reaction alone made everything worth it. Ermal would have told him yes, if only to see Fabrizio so happy. He was still thinking about this, trying to commit this beaming, soft version of Fabrizio to memory, when suddenly something clicked in Ermal’s mind.

“Wait, the album, that’s why you’re postponing it, you can’t put it out now, because the song has to be original for Sanremo,” he said, looking up at Fabrizio to see if he was right.

“Yes, exactly. But I didn’t want to tell you on the train, because I wanted to ask you first, and I had planned how I would ask you.”

“Oh Fabrizio, you put so much thought into it. I love you. And I can’t believe you want us to go to Sanremo together!”

“Who else would I go with, I only want to go with you, Ermal,” Fabrizio replied, and kissed him.

Their business now concluded, now really concluded, they decided to go out for dinner to celebrate. They ended up in that restaurant of that first dinner, that first meeting that was a date instead of business. Somehow, it was fitting, the same place marking the transition from business to dating twice. Of course, they shared their starter, of course they shared dessert. Then, afterwards, they just sipped wine, again lingering until they had definitely overstayed their welcome. When that happened, they again made their way to that park, the park with the fountain and the benches, that park of the first evening, of that first kiss, it seemed so long ago now.

They shared more kisses, sitting there on a bench underneath the stars, until Ermal, emboldened by the rush of endorphins and the alcohol in his blood, turned to Fabrizio.

“After all your questions to me today, I have a question of my own for you,” Ermal told him. “You know, well no, you don’t, but I’m telling you now. I’ve been thinking I want to be closer to you, not always on the other side of the country. I’ve been thinking of moving to Rome... My name is known in the business, it is a big city, I have my connections now so it should not be an issue work wise. So that leaves… you. What would you say to that?”

“You moving to Rome?” Fabrizio asked with a smile.

“Yes, me moving to Rome,” Ermal nodded.

Fabrizio was quiet for a bit, fingers caressing Ermal’s as their hands lay entangled in his lap. Then he looked up.

“Is there something special you’re asking me?

“Well, I would... I would need a place to stay?” Ermal managed, embarrassed, scared, and a bit annoyed with himself too for feeling like that. He hadn’t planned to be this insecure, but then, he hadn’t really _planned_ it that much at all. It was true he had been thinking about this, but not in such definite terms, asking it now just had kind of happened, this wasn’t planned at all.

“Ermal, do you want to move in with me?” Fabrizio finally asked, smiling. (Smiling, thank God, smiling.)

“Oh, yes, I’d love to. Only I don’t want to force you, it’s not like I can’t find something for myself, I can do that. I’m not setting some kind of ultimatum or anything, it’s okay if you don’t want this, that’s fine, I understand that. I understand it if you think it’s too much all at once, and that’s perfectly okay. Even just living in the same city would be wonderful, it would be enough, Bizio.”

“Hush, Ermal, of course I want this. Actually, I’ve been thinking about it lately, too, a lot, but I knew it might be difficult with your job and all your work-relations in Milan... I wasn’t sure if that would work out. But most importantly, I didn’t want to move too fast and make you feel pressured into something you weren’t ready for. But I’d love for us to live together!”

And so ended their week together, on a bench in a park. They had one more night together, but it was already halfway gone, and Fabrizio’s plane was set to leave early in the morning. Ermal wished they could stay like this longer, stay together longer, especially after this evening, after all the _plans_ they now had. He wanted to think about it, to talk about it, to map it all out, together with Fabrizio. But they couldn’t. Both had meetings and obligations, both in different cities too. They had known it from the start, but with all these turns the week had taken, Ermal wasn’t ready for Fabrizio to _leave_.

But he also knew, that now, especially now, they would have reasons to meet again and again, to see each other, spend time with each other, spend time with Libero and Anita, but also to listen to Fabrizio’s album – oh, how he was looking forward to that –, to discuss him moving to Rome, plan when he would do so, talk about the house, the furniture, all those things. The domestic things, the domestic things that would now be his future. They would be a family together, and Ermal couldn’t believe it. He had wanted this, for so long, and now he would get everything he had wished for, it truly was a miracle. And besides all that, they would meet to discuss Sanremo, the song, any changes, any improvements, the rehearsals, there was so much to do. So he _knew_ he had to let Fabrizio go now, but they would see each other again, soon, so soon. And then, not too long after that, they would see each other every single day, they would _live_ together. No longer on different sides of the country, as they had done all their lives, but in the same city, in the same neighbourhood, in the same _house_. It would be perfect, Ermal was sure of it. And if it wasn’t, they would make it so, because if anyone could, it would be them.

-XXX-XXX-XXX-

_Sanremo, 02-02-2020_

_My dearest Bizio,_

_I can’t believe that’s actually the place I’m writing this (and the date, look at the date, isn’t it beautiful?). Maybe this letter is not really necessary, your dressing room is right next to mine after all. In four steps I can be with you, if I wanted to, and I do want to, but I also want to do this our way. With a letter. Because once more, there are some things I want to tell you. Things that have been in my head and that I could tell you, but writing them down makes it all so much clearer and calmer. So here I go._

_The past few months we’ve lived towards this, towards Sanremo, and now we are here. It feels like a dream, it really does. And I love each minute of it. Because, you know what the best thing is? It isn’t a dream, it is reality. It is our reality. We are really here, together, doing this, together, and it is absolutely perfect. Who would ever have thought this would happen? You know, you actually know, that I’ve looked up to you, music-wise, for years and now here I am. Me, together with you, at Sanremo. I had to think back of the first time we met, also at Sanremo, and how starstruck I was, and how you didn’t even look at me twice. Of course you didn’t, why would you? But you did, look at me, I mean, years later, and that led to this._

_We’ve talked about it before, how everything in our lives has led us to us, to each other. I told you before I don’t believe in destiny, but somehow you make me doubt myself. Because how else can I explain everything that has happened between us? All the little things, all the coincidences? All the times we met, or we almost met, everything we’ve shared either on paper or in person… I can’t, I can’t, there must be some larger force in play. But thinking about it, about all those little things and all those coincidences, has made me think about the future too. I’m wondering what it will have in store for us. But for us, as long as we’re together, it can only be good._

_I was going somewhere with this. The past few months we’ve lived towards Sanremo, but now I can slowly think of life after Sanremo. No matter the outcome of this week, there are a few things I know for certain. Soon, very soon, we will be living together in Rome. I know you have your tour this summer, and you’ll be away a lot, but I won’t even complain about that. Because I know that you will be coming home, home to Rome, home to Libero and Anita, home to me. I’ll miss you when you’re away, but it will be nothing like it was the past year, and we survived that. Besides, we will still, as always, have our letters. _

_And I’ve been thinking. Just a little bit, I haven’t allowed myself to take it too far yet, but I’ve been thinking. Being at Sanremo again, being back on the stage, with the lights, the crowds, the music, it made me realize how much I actually missed it. So I was wondering, hoping, if maybe I could join you on stage some time. Just for the one song, just to do it one more time, together. I would love that, Bizio, if you want me there too. In wilder moments, more unchecked moments, I’ve imagined how it would be to record my own album, all the songs completely my own (and a little bit yours, of course). Take it out and play my own concerts, do you think I could? I’m starting to see possibilities. There is nothing planned, but Bizio, doesn’t the future look exciting?_

_Thank you Bizio, because without you, none of this would have happened. If you hadn’t come to me for help writing songs, I wonder if we ever would have figured out who we were, or if we just had continued on with the letters, living our lives side by side but never crossing. If you hadn’t come to me, I wouldn’t have found the love of my life. If you hadn’t come to me, my life would be so much darker. And I know, I know, I’m stealing your words now, but you, Bizio, are also the light of my life. And I want to tell you, that thirteen-year-old boy who threw a bottle into the waves in Bari, could never have dreamt that life would take him here, to a life of music, to Sanremo, time and time again, but most importantly, to you. But I was right, it is good to be in Italy, and I am happy here._

_I am happy here with you. And I can’t wait to go back on that stage tonight with you, but I also can’t wait for this to be over and for the rest of our lives to begin. I love you._

_\- Ermal_

 

There they were. Sanremo. Ermal was back in the whirlwind that was Sanremo, and that in itself was great, it really was. He hadn’t realized before how much he _actually_ had been missing the rush of performing, the hot lights, the crowds, living the music. But he was here with Fabrizio, and it made everything a hundred times better. They sang, and sang, and sang, and every night he loved it more, every night he loved being on stage more, every night he loved the song more, and most importantly, every night he loved Fabrizio more.

They had made it to the finals. That was amazing already and they almost didn’t dare hope for more. Almost. They wanted to hope for more. They wanted to hope that this was what life had brought them together for, to spread a message of peace, and love, and hope. With a song like that, teaching _hope_ , how could they not hope themselves? There was a buzzing in the air, a static, a feeling that everything was as it should be, that everything would be as it should be. One final evening, they sang, together, better than ever. Then the waiting, the waiting, the endless waiting. And then, finally, somehow, after an excruciating moment of silence, their names were announced. They had won, they had actually won! On a day in February, incidentally the anniversary of that first dinner together, the evening of that first magical kiss, they had managed to win Italy’s most esteemed music festival.

They hugged, kept hugging, and Fabrizio whispered in Ermal’s ear, “So we actually managed to write that masterpiece together.”

Ermal grinned and wanted nothing more than to kiss him. But he couldn’t, not here, not right now, not with all these cameras around. That was a conversation they had not had yet. But he could kiss Fabrizio’s cheek, right, that would be fine. So he did. And again, and then hugged Fabrizio again, tighter than before. He didn’t care if people were waiting for them, he didn’t care if they had to give a speech, if they had to sing again. This moment was for them, just for them.

Because yes, they had written a masterpiece, they had thought so, and the rest of Italy thought so too. They had spread a message, and it was beautiful. But it was more than that, so much more than just this song right now, right here. He and Fabrizio, they had both realized their childhood dream of making it in music, and they had done it together. This moment was theirs, and all moments to come would be theirs. The future would be _theirs_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~The End~
> 
> I can't believe this is finished. I can't believe I wrote over 50.000 words when at first I thought I would barely write five chapters. I loved every single minute of it though!  
> Thank you so much for all the kudo's, comments, theories, kind words, and all the encouraging messages, it was so incredibly nice to have new comments to wake up to, and each and every one of you was so kind! <3 Thank you!  
> Come find me on tumblr (@raisedtokeepquiet), I'd love to talk to you, either about the story, or about anything else!
> 
> Edit: I wrote a Director's Commentary, which can be found here: http://raisedtokeepquiet.tumblr.com/post/181563224913/hey-could-you-do-a-directors-cut-on-message-in


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